Brothers & Troubles
by RayneSummer
Summary: One-shot requests that you can make. Something to keep doing while waiting for inspiration for other stories. Anyone can feel free to request, and I'll note your name and idea at the beginning. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

**I don't have a lot of inspiration a lot of the time, so I thought I'd start this request story thing - basically it keeps me writing when I don't have any story ideas, because hopefully you guys will give me requests to write! I apologise in advance if the story doesn't live up to what you were expecting, but I'm not a great writer; however I will try to try my best, because you awesome guys deserve it (I don't know who I'm really addressing this to, but as I often talk to myself, it's easy to address an empty room at large as 'you guys').**

**So yeah that's about what this is - a request thingy (can't think of a better name for it tbh). So, uh, I'll write one short story to start off, then you go ahead and request and I'll write a chapter of it. Thank you & please enjoy :)**

**However there are a few rules (because what is fun without the rules?) to follow:**

**- No romantic ships & definitely no wincest (sorry guys, I just like the brothers as they are)  
****- Implied ships (eg: destiel) can be done with slight hints involved in the story (I guess)  
****- Please no death requests or, really, AUs or pre series if you can manage it (I'm not comfortable writing AU or Pre series)  
- Bit random, but I don't particularly like John Winchester so I'd rather not write about him (basically just Sam & Dean)  
- Can be any season etc & I'll write when it's set if need be (I've seen all episodes so it'll be no spoilers for me)  
- Oh and... have fun! Be creative! (Within reason, I'd like to keep it canon)**

**Drop a comment on this story or on my page for a request, and I'll try to do them all (well if I get any I will). This is the first time I've done something like this so please be patient; I will try. Thanks again :) Looking forward to hearing from some people!**

* * *

_Here's a rather random story about brothers and a car to start off..._

Sam huffed and sat down on his bed, glaring at his brother when Dean entered.

They were both soaked through from the salt and burn they just had to do, and furthermore Sam had got thrown into a tree. He wasn't very pleased about that. Luckily only his hair got any ill effect; there were twigs and leaves stuck in the wet locks that plastered his face.

"Dude, are you going to stop giving me the evil eye, and go wash your crazy hair?" Dean interrupted Sam's train of complaining thought.

Giving his brother a bitchface, Sam got up and headed for the shower. Dean grinned as he watched him go, and sighed, turning back to the newspaper he was reading.

He was soaking wet too, but Sam was the one who looked as though someone had just poured a bucket of tree water over Albert Eistein's head, so Dean had decided to kindly allow him to look more presentable before going to get dinner.

Reading the paper and finding nothing interesting, Dean dropped it on the bed, and considered dropping after it, but due to the fact that then the paper and the bed will be wet as well as him, decided that wasn't a good idea. Instead, he logically thought that as it was still raining outside, and he wasn't getting much dryer standing in soaked clothes, he may as well go and get them some dinner.

Dean walked over to the bathroom door and banged on it, and yelled to be heard through, "I'm going out for dinner, okay?"

"Alright!" Sam called back, sounding pissed. Dean smirked. Clearly he had jumped at banging at the door, which was always amusing.

Rolling his eyes, Dean grabbed the motel keys off the table and headed out. He ran the few strides to the Impala and sighed contently as he got in to the warmth and dryness of his baby.

Turning the key, Dean expected to hear her engine come to life, ready to take him where he wished. Instead, it made a spluttering, miserable, noise, and hissing sadly. Suddenly smoke started coming from the bonnet, and the rain that was trying to splatter the car to jelly hissed as it fell near where the smoke was from.

Sitting there in shock for a minute, Dean quickly snapped into action, jumping out of the car and around to the bonnet in the same swift movements as he usually used to rush to his brother's side when in need of help (or not, considering how Sam's random independence streak sometimes struck).

It was raining way too hard to open the engine and see the problem, but Dean immediately noted that the smoke wasn't normal, and the air around it was freezing enough - despite the rain - to cause smoke in the air when he breathed.

Godfreakingdammit. It was that freaking _ghost._

Growling in frustration, Dean kicked a nearby post, only succeeding in hurting his foot, resulting in trying to stand on one leg as he massaged the ankle, hissing, "son of a bitch..."

Eventually he gave up being wet - because he was by now very very thoroughly soaked and chilled to the bone so much that he briefly wondered whether he'd get hypothermia if he didn't have a hot shower soon. Doubtful, but considering the state his baby was currently in, he wouldn't so much mind.

He guess Sam would, though. So Dean patted the Impala as he left it, muttering curses and threats to the twice-now dead ghost that had totaled his car for when they stopped.

He stormed back into the room, slamming the door behind him, and causing his brother - who was lying calmly on his bed looking at his laptop - to glance over to him, mildly surprised.

"Yes?" Sam asked, noting the dark, severely-annoyed expression on Dean's face that was usually reserved for anyone threatening his little brother.

Dean just glared a bit more, until he decided that that wasn't doing anything, so instead stormed to the bathroom, watched curiously by Sam, until he turned around to glare some more at his brother.

"FREAKING GHOST TOTALED MY CAR!" he suddenly shouted, extremely pissed, and turned around to go into the bathroom, slamming the door after him and yelling at nothing in particular, "SON OF A BITCH!"

Sam watched this with mild interest, not particularly surprised now about Dean's anger. He sighed and turned back to his laptop as he heard the shower running. And he grinned as he suddenly realised something.

Clearly the Impala was the only thing that made Dean forget about food.


	2. 1st Request from itsmunia

**Wow, I'm so surprised and pleased that people actually like this idea! I've got three requests already, and I am totally going to work through them all - beginning with a request from 'itsmunia', who asked: "Can you please write some Dean and Sam's brotherly moments? I am missing it so much this season... Like Dean is sick and hurting for his Mark of Cain and Sam started to worry about it... he tries to talk about it with Dean but Dean doesn't want to and but Sam takes care of him and talks to him anyways and Dean tries not to take Sams help"**

**Yes, yes, I certainly can! Ugh, I've missed the brothers this season too, trust me, I will gladly write a nice brotherly story about Sam looking after Dean. If Dean's not going to be protective any more then I guess Sam'll have to take that role...! So here we go, first request story, I hope it goes well and you like it. Thanks for the request :)**

**Season: **Nine **spoilers up to episode 9x18**

**Characters/Themes: **Sam, Dean; hurt/comfort, family, Mark of Cain

**Request: **from 'itsumunia' - "i have a request..can u please write some Dean and Sam's brotherly moments?i am missing it so much this season.. Like Dean is sick and hurting for his mark of cain and Sam started to worry about it..he tries to talk about it with dean but dean doesnt want to and but Sam takes care of him and talk to him anyways and dean tried not to take sams help and like this.."

* * *

Dean yawned as he walked into the Bunker's kitchen, rubbing his unshaven face with one hand, trying to scrub away the tiredness that was plaguing him. It was like staying afloat on thick water; if he didn't try hard enough to swim then he would drown. And he didn't even want to know what awaited him in his dreams these days.

Fortunately, Sam wasn't present in the room yet; Dean glanced at his watch and read that it was only 6am. Of course his sleep-wise brother wasn't up yet. Any sane person without an itching mark on their arm wouldn't be awake and eating breakfast yet.

Though thinking of eating... Dean wrinkled his nose, not really enjoying the idea of having to pour cereal into a bowl, get a spoon and chew it until it was all gone, like some toddler. Instead, he just sighed and reached for a mug to pour some instant coffee from their coffee maker, once it was hot, into.

Caffeine was one of the few things that kept him going these days. Food and sleep seemed like a waste of time, and hell if Sam cared. Well, maybe he did, maybe he didn't - Dean wasn't meant to care about that either, was he? They were _partners _now, after all...

Shaking his head to get rid of thoughts about his brother and their unhappy recent ordeals, Dean was surprised to feel dizzy, stumbling slightly and taking hold of the counter to steady himself. After a minute, the moment passed, though he was left with an inkling that it was going to happen again, stronger.

With a sigh, Dean walked over to the table, slumping down in a chair and warming both hands around his mug of coffee. He didn't really have time for such unsteadiness; there was Abaddon to find, and the freaking angel to locate and kick his ass for what he did to them. 'That angel' being _Gadreel_, of course. Fricking angels. Still screwing with them after all these years.

Tiredness was still fresh in his mind, so Dean barely felt it when his head started to nod, because maybe just this once he could cope with the devils that cackled in his dreams, and told him stories of Cain and Abel, and how the time would come when one will have to slaughter the other for survival...

_No. _No, he couldn't let that happen. With that one certain thought, Dean immediately brought his head back up and took a sip of coffee. He couldn't dream, he couldn't drift. He had to stay focused.

"Bed not comfortable?"

Dean looked up, startled. Sam stood in the doorway, almost filling it. He was watching the elder hunter with shielded concern, but after years of knowing his brother, it was easy to read right past the disguises.

Sam was worried. Most probably about him.

It wasn't amusing at all, but Dean almost let out a humorless laugh. He didn't want Sam to be worried about _him_. He was fine; he could deal with this. There was a mark on his arm, yes, but it was there so he could kill Abaddon and every other demon he came across, including Crowley. That was a good thing. Hell, that was the greatest thing they'd had in a long time.

As his brother hadn't replied to Sam's unspoken _are you okay?_, he slowly walked into the room, watching Dean with more open concern. Turning to get a bowl out, he heard Dean finally reply from behind him, "uh, yeah, just... I'm not tired."

Sam straightened up, giving Dean a look that said exactly what he thought of that excuse. Not tired? His brother was barely sitting straight, almost unable to open his eyes after every blink. Of course the stubborn son of a bitch was tired. He was exhausted. But was he going to sleep? No; not for the things that awaited him in his dreams.

Hesitating, Sam suddenly wondered whether to join his brother at the table for breakfast, or just leave him be. Dean quickly answered that one for him by standing up to leave, but then he stumbled and caught the edge of the table to stop falling back in his seat.

Instincts automatically kicking in, Sam put down the bowl he had just picked up and took a step towards his brother, to support him, before one look at Dean's face stopped him short.

Dean was a cross between surprised and irritated at Sam's reaction, before it merged into completely annoyed. He didn't want help, dammit, and definitely not from his _not__-_brother. Also ignoring the slightly hurt look on Sam's face, Dean walked as steadily as possible to the door of the kitchen, leaving before he or Sam said anything else that they might regret.

He went into the map-room and dropped into a chair, holding back a groan at the pains in his body.

In truth, his arm itched just below the Mark, his head ached from alcohol and exhaustion and there were pains burning through his body. It didn't seem like there was anywhere that didn't hurt like hell. Actually, fire reminded him of hell...

Blinking hard to rid that thought, Dean sighed and brought a hand up to rub his eyes, feeling more tired than ever. He slowly put his head down on his crossed arms on the table, and closed his eyes against the pain. He'd just rest for a minute.

* * *

Sensing a presence behind him, Dean tensed, ready to spring. He heard someone sigh, and then a cool hand briefly on the back of his neck. Dean almost frowned. That was familiar - kind of like home.

_Wait, what? _Dean opened his eyes and immediately realised he was still at the Bunker's table, and apparently he had fallen asleep, because time had definitely past. And as for the presence behind him -

A plate with a solitary sandwich sitting on it was put down near to him on the table, and Dean frowned for a second before twisting around in his chair to see Sam standing over him, watching him with a mixed look of pity and concern.

Dean was about to ask what was it with the creepy staring - or perhaps about the more pressing matter of the sandwich, he hadn't decided yet - when Sam said, as though dealing with a toddler who throws a tantrum and refuses to eat, "have you eaten at all recently?"

Blinking, still confused from his unplanned sleep, at his brother, Dean was about to answer _yeah, of course_, when he realised that... no, he really hadn't. In fact, he could barely remember the last time he had really eaten.

Anyway, didn't this picture feel familiar? One Winchester at the table, the other trying to make them eat and watch over them.

Before Dean could connect it to another, warm, memory, Sam sighed again and muttered, "I'll take that as a no then."

Thinking back, Dean should of asked _what _exactly Sam was taking as a 'no', as he was sure he hadn't done anything negative. He hadn't said anything at all in fact. Maybe that was why actually.

But at the moment, he had more pressing matters - even more pressing than the sandwich - to deal with. Such as why he went to sleep and now it was lunch time and he was so confused he couldn't think straight. Come to think of it, he was kind of hot too. Wasn't that something bad? Maybe he should...

He was snapped out of his train of broken thoughts by Sam saying sharply, "Dean."

Dean blinked up at his brother again, in an unspoken _what?_

Sam, instead of sighing in exasperation this time, frowned slightly in concern. Dean didn't seem to be tracking what he was saying, which wasn't good. When Sam had briefly tested his temperature, while he was asleep, it was rather too hot. Burning with fever and tiredness and vengeance wasn't a good recipe.

"Look, why don't you go to bed?" Sam suggested, more gently than anything before.

That caught a reaction.

Dean sat up straighter and glanced away before looking back at Sam, this time focused. "I'm fine," he said in a wary voice, eyeing his brother as though Sam might decide to use force to get him there this time.

But Sam knew he had no chance, so he just sighed again, watching Dean turn away, dismissing him, to pull some files towards him and look in them. Downcast, Sam walked around the other side of the table - not opposite Dean, but at the end - and sat down too, watching his brother out of the corner of his eye as he pulled some files towards him as well.

Dean ignored the sandwich, automatically pushing it away, and showed no weakness apart from a brief frown and rub at his fevered forehead. Sam just watched, wanting to help but knowing it was useless. That hadn't stopped him before, but things were different now. They always were.

But as long as Dean was going to refuse his help, or talk about the Mark or, really, anything, to Sam, then the little brother was just going to have to watch over his soldier until he fell. And then Sam would be there to catch him.


	3. 2nd Request from Lilybolt

**This is the second request, from 'Lilybolt' - who's also an amazing supporter of my writing, even when it's not so good, so thank you so much for that! She asked for a nightmare for Sam about Dean's hell, but set in the later seasons, so it's unexpected, and Dean's surprised that Sam still has nightmares like that when so much more nightmare-worthy events have happened since. This is going to be set season 7, because I didn't so much like the first half of season 8 and the second half was more focused on the Trials, so I don't know if it would fit in, so there we go. It's also going to be set after Bobby's death, but before Sam went crazy with Lucifer. I'm going to enjoy writing this one, and hope you enjoy reading it too. :) You can still make requests! I only have one request left after this, so please feel free to ask for a story; it keeps me going! Thanks again :)**

**Season: **Seven **spoilers for 7x10** - set after Bobby's death, just to add some extra angst, but before say 7x15

**Characters/Themes: **Sam, Dean, some HallLucifer; hurt/comfort, nightmares, hell, angst, family

**Request: **from 'Lilybolt' - "Sam has a nightmare about when Dean went to Hell, and Dean comforts him. The trick here is that the nightmare comes years after the event (maybe around season 7 or 8?) and Dean is surprised to find out that Sam still has those dreams despite how much has happened since then"

* * *

Sam sighed as he rolled over in the uncomfortable hotel bed, turning to face Dean's sleeping form instead of the window on the wall.

The elder Winchester had been out since his head had touched the pillow, after a particular nasty salt and burn that had left the both of them bruised and battered and wishing for sleep.

However before Dean had crashed, he had still made sure to check on Sam, who had been actually whipped by the ghost. Luckily ghost-whipping didn't seem to actually cause any open wounds, and after a brief triage of the bruises showing up, Dean had pronounced him fine and slapped him on the back, grinning when Sam jumped in pain and bitchfaced him.

"Get some sleep, princess," Dean had told him, before promptly following his own orders.

Good advice, and Sam would if he could, but it was just... the ghost they had been burning, it and its whip, had reminded Sam forcefully of hell. Not his own; he was thinking of that all the time, and his experience was not so much whip but more torture. No, the flogging and the hissed threats reminded him of _Dean's _Hell.

Because even though it had been years and lots more crap since Dean had gone to hell literally for Sam's life, it was one thing - out of many, of course - that Sam just couldn't shake thoughts of.

His brother had been in hell, alone, screaming for hell, whipped and tortured, and then Alistair...

Sam sat up in bed, unable to think about that for too long. He couldn't bear it. The very thought of what Dean had gone through, and then even afterwards, when Castiel had raised him, there had been a whole year of flashbacks and insomnia from the terrible nightmares that waited him in his dreams.

Much like Sam now, except Dean had gone first. And that made all the difference.

After all, what had his brother said to him when trying to talk him out of Lucifer's suicidal words, back when he started hallucinating? _I've been to hell. I know how it feels.__  
_

That wasn't strictly true, as Sam's hell tour was much worse than Dean's - something that he had also repeatedly stated. But Dean did know how the pain felt, and that's how he managed to get some out of his head and back with physical pain from his hand.

Sam massaged the scar now, as he sat in bed, trying to calm down. Thinking of hell, whether his or Dean's, wasn't any help at all, and he decided to just try to sleep. Laying back down slowly, he watched Dean sniff and shuffle in his dreams.

Not thinking of hell, no doubt. If he was, he'd be awake by now, or wouldn't have gone to sleep in the first place. Sitting awake with that terrified look that he could barely attempt to hide. Nothing could hide hell.

After Bobby's death, Dean had hardly slept. Sam caught snatches when he could, dreams full of troubling times without their surrogate father, and tried to persuade his brother, hell bent on revenge, to sleep, to rest, so they could actually make plans for revenge.

It had taken weeks before Dean had finally succumbed to sleep; according to Frank, for over a day before he woke, still exhausted but more ready. To go and rescue Sam from the Vetalas, of course. Damn monsters.

Thinking all this as he tried to settle, Sam sighed. Not exactly the kind of things one thought about whilst trying to get some sleep. So instead, Sam tried to blank his mind - and Lucifer whispering over in the corner as he admired the crappy paint work of the motel room - and closed his eyes.

And almost opened them again in shock as Lucifer shook his head with a disappointed sigh as though he expected better, and bent over him to talk quietly in his ear. "You'd better get some sleep while you can, Sammy boy... cause you're gonna have to let me in sooner or later. I mean again, of course. Already done it once... that's where all this hell comes from..."

Eyes determinedly shut, Sam felt for his hand scar and pressed it. After a moment, the mutterings vanished. Sam kept his eyes closed to prevent seeing what nightmare his hell was making real.

_Not real not real not real. _

He slipped into evil dreams.

* * *

Sam hurried down the corridor. If he didn't get there soon, Dean was going to hell. Leaving him. Again. Always leaving him.

Always going, for the greater good. Didn't these monsters understand? There was no greater good than his brother being by his side, the way it was meant to be. The Winchesters together, working together, hunting together - they belonged with each other. One simply could not be without the other.

Dean was on the table. Just a normal table, but it may as well be a butchers's table. The hellhounds were going to come in and rip him to shreds.

There was nothing Sam could do. Lilith - so close to Lucifer, so close... _I burn cold... _

She had him up against the wall, kissing him for no particular reason. Just because she could. It didn't matter. Sam didn't care. He wanted a deal. He wanted Dean.

He always wanted Dean, and Dean was always there.

Unless he couldn't be.

Unless he was dead.

Unless he was in hell, screaming Sam's name...

Lilith laughs at him; laughs at the both of them. At their futile lives, their unbelievable goals. Of course they couldn't stop her.

Sam smirks at her to anger her, and Dean glares.

She just laughs in their faces like they don't get the joke, but it's so funny.

Then she goes to the door.

She's using Ruby's old body; Ruby, who deserves to get torn to shreds.

Ruby couldn't save Dean. After that she was useless.

Lilith opens the door and the hellhound stream in.

In his dreams, Sam can see them.

See their faces, see their shimmering black bodies.

All he sees now is their claws, their bloodied teeth, growling and barking as they maul Dean to death.

Sam's screaming, but no one can hear him.

Lilith is laughing.

Dean is yelling in pain.

Sam is sobbing in an entirely different version of pain.

Lucifer joins in, cackling.

Dean is calling him from hell.

Dean is calling him...

"Sam! _Sammy! _Wake up!"

He jerked awake, sitting up, eyes wide, looking around wildly.

Dean retreated a little, sitting on the edge of Sam's bed and watching him with bone deep concern. "You were having a nightmare," he told Sam, in case he wasn't aware of why he was feeling whatever he was feeling, worry evident in his voice as Sam tried to catch his breath and orientate himself.

The elder Winchester waited a moment, knowing how it was with nightmares, and especially Sam's nightmares. Sometimes Lucifer just wouldn't let him go, and he would barely wake up, half suffocating under the bedcovers, screaming.

But this time it seemed different. He had been calling for Dean and sobbing; not as though he was being tortured, but as though Dean was in trouble and he couldn't help him or save him. Oh yes, Dean definitely knew what that was like.

"What was it?" Dean asked quietly once Sam had calmed down enough to slow his breathing and try to stop trembling. His brother shrugged and looked down, away from Dean. He frowned as he realised this would be complex. "Sam," Dean said patiently, and waited for his brother to look at him. "Was it hell?"

Shifting uncomfortably - wondering how he had woken up; screaming? Yelling Dean's name? Probably both - Sam blew out a breath and decided to tell Dean to truth. Because nothing works well when hiding from one another. That's what they were there for.

"It was... hell," Sam confirmed, and Dean sat back a little, expression turning into pity. He knew what that was like. "But..." Sam hesitated and paused, taking in Dean's questioning expression. "It was... when you went to hell. Your hell."

Dean's expression turned to one of surprise, studying Sam with his usual concerned scrutiny.

"My hell? As in, Lilith and all that? When I was dragged to hell?" He asked to confirm.

Sam winced at the reminder, and nodded. "Yeah, I just..." he waved a hand, telling his brother to dismiss it. "Nothing. Go back to sleep."

Dean caught his arm and stared at him until Sam looked back. "Sammy, you need to tell me these things," Dean told him seriously, then let go of Sam's arm and gestured to the curtained window. "Besides, it's already light."

Blinking in surprise, Sam realised that it indeed was already morning. "Oh..."

Chuckling a little at his little brother's confusion, Dean still wasn't done with the first topic. "So... how come you're having nightmares about that now?" He asked, unable to help but wonder. After all they had been through since them - and Sam's own personal hell too. How come he still thought about Dean's hell?

Sam shrugged, avoiding the topic, but after a pointed glance from his brother, he sighed and elaborated. "I couldn't sleep, and started thinking about hell, which wasn't a great idea, but Lucifer was whispering -"

He halted immediately, seeing Dean's expression darken. "Lucifer?" He repeated, and Sam nodded numbly. Dean sighed harshly and glanced around the room before back at Sam. "So if it was Lucifer, how come you ended up thinking about me being dragged to hell?"

"You, uh... that was... one of the worst nights of my life. Losing you. Properly, I mean. Well, at the time," Sam tried to explain, hesitating. He held up his hands. "It's fine. I'm awake now and that was ages ago. Can I get up?"

Dean realised that he was sitting on Sam's bedcovers, stopping him from getting up. "Oh, yeah." He quickly got up and sat on the edge of his own bed, watching Sam with narrowed eyes as his little brother got up and headed for the bathroom with a sense of desperate-to-get-out-of-the-room.

"Are you sure it's okay?" Dean called before Sam shut the door. His brother looked back and tried for a smile.

"Yes, Dean. As long as you're here," he replied, which couldn't be more truthful.

Dean nodded instead of rolling his eyes at the sappy moment, and Sam shut the door. Although he had briefly let him in, he was now shutting Dean out.

The elder Winchester sighed and looked up at the ceiling. To think that after everything they had been through - together and not - Sam still regarded Dean's going to hell as a result of his frankly selfish actions one of the worst experiences of their screwed up life.

And it hurt Dean to know that every May, near his birthday, rather than celebrating that he was still alive, Sam mourned for that day that his brother was literally ripped from him, and his heart had not healed since, and never would.


	4. 3rd Request from Lilybolt

**I've been a bit busy with day outings and stuff, so I haven't been writing - but actually I don't have any new requests so I guess it's okay. Though I would like some stories to write! Feel free to carry on requesting, please! So I was going to write a suggestion made by a guest, but I wasn't comfortable with that level of implied Wincest, so sorry about that; also, as a guest, I didn't know who had given me the review, and I always like to credit people by their names, because they deserve it. So I'm back to write a story requested by Lilybolt again, as she's the only one who's asked for anything - also did I mention she's an amazing person who reviews all my stories and encourages me? :D**

**Season: **Hm, let's set it Season Six, after 6x12, so Sam has his soul back and they're at Bobby's

**Characters/Themes: **Sam, Dean, Bobby; family, friendship, birthday, surprise

**Request: **from 'Lilybolt' - "It's Dean's birthday and Bobby and Sam surprise him with something to celebrate. You can pick during what time-frame this occurs, and also what they do to celebrate"

* * *

The plans were all ready and set. Everything was in order.

Sam poured over the papers on Bobby's kitchen table the night before anyway, just to make sure it was all going to go smoothly. Or, rather, however smoothly something could go with the Winchesters.

He didn't get to bed until gone 3am, which wasn't great, because he really didn't want to be snappy in the morning.

Because it was a very special day that day. It was Dean's birthday. And at the moment, both Sam and Bobby had decided that the hunter needed something really special for this year's unusual celebrations.

They didn't usually celebrate birthdays, to be honest. It wasn't a general thing that mattered, really. They were hunters, so they could be dead the next day from as little as a stupid miscalculation or mistake. So it seemed ridiculous to actually keep track and make a fuss about age. Especially seeing as Dean and Sam had actually died a few times now.

Yeah, a few... there was that time with Jake, and the Trickster, and the Hellhounds, and Anna, and the hunters - yeah, the theme was, one or both of them died of completely unnatural causes.

So now Sam was back from the dead (again), and been re-souled (which of course Dean was worrying about), he had decided that his brother needed a real, calm, break for his birthday.

To work the younger Winchester had gone. He had got caught in his plans by Bobby one night, and the elder hunter had immediately agreed in the idea without asking, so Bobby was on his side too.

The main problem would be getting Dean to enjoy the celebrations.

Because that, of course, was very hard. Bobby considered if it might be better if Sam wasn't in Dean's activities, so he didn't have to worry about his little brother. But Sam had immediately pointed out that this would not happen, and also it would make Dean worry more about how or what Sam was doing.

Plus on the (Winchester luck /sigh) off chance that Sam did get hurt away from his brother, Dean would continue to beat himself up over that for ages. Also would blame anyone within a few hundred miles for not informing him of Sam's unknown activities, and then would blame them for what happened too. And would go all mother-hen on Sam.

So no, that wasn't the best idea. Sam would have to be with his brother for Dean to enjoy himself fully. And Dean would have to be at somewhere where he would enjoy himself.

And that, in conclusion, was why Sam was quietly getting into bed opposite his brother at 3 in the morning, hoping against hope that Dean would like and enjoy the birthday surprises in store for him on the following day.

Sam waited until he heard Dean's breathing even out into recognisable sleep patterns, which clearly hadn't happened yet. He had obviously been waiting up for his little brother. And although that made Sam exasperated, it also made him feel, as usual, loved and cared for and valued.

Grinning to himself about his own private chick flick moment, Sam burrowed under the covers and settled down for a quick sleep before the big day.

* * *

Drowsily, Sam heard his name being called. However, it wasn't in urgency or panic - the two main tones he knew he had to reply to, and usually find a terrified big brother by his side, or he'd end up in hospital or someplace safe without a doubt.

So full of sleep still, Sam ignored the calling for a minute. He could just rest for a moment more...

"Sam, it's past, like, almost 10am and you're still asleep, which, you know, would be annoying, but as you didn't go to bed till 3, sasquatch - yeah I saw that, dude - then I think I might let you off, though it is most boring here talking to myself," Dean continued in a bored voice, "because inherently I am too awesome for that, so -dude!"_  
_

Sam bolted out of bed and, after one terrified look at Dean, ran downstairs, almost hitting his brother in passing. Dean blinked after him. "Well that was weird," he commented, decided that unless Sam acted any crazier, it wasn't too concerning.

Meanwhile, the younger Winchester was looking frantically for the owner of the house. He finally found Bobby just coming in from the junk yard, and stopped breathlessly in front of the elder hunter, who raised an eyebrow at the kid.

"I... overslept... have you-" Sam begun, but didn't even have to finish his sentence.

Bobby nodded with a smirk. "Knew you would. Figured you needed the sleep." He jerked his head towards where he had just come from. "Yeah, everything's ready, don't worry, boy. It's gonna be good."

Smiling slightly, Sam replied, "yeah, you'd think..." he sighed and glanced up the stairs as the two heard creaking of floorboards as Dean got ready for the day. Sam sighed.

"I think I freaked him out, which isn't a good start," he admitted. Bobby rolled his eyes.

"As long as you didn't manage to hurt yourself, Sam, I doubt he really noticed," the elder hunter pointed out.

Sam laughed a little and nodded. "Yeah, that's about it!"

They listened to the hunter moving around upstairs, humming to himself, for a minute, and then Bobby eyed Sam, realising the boy was still wearing his attire from last night, as he had been so tired he had just crashed in his day clothes.

"Better go get dressed, boy; I'll start things up," Bobby told him, and Sam glanced down at himself, realising that he was looking quite messy, having just jumped out of bed and left.

"Oh, right, yeah." He wondered slowly up the stairs as Bobby left in the opposite direction to the kitchen. Sam eyed the closed bathroom door, and decided that Dean was probably present in there, which left the room free.

Shutting the door of their room, Sam quickly changed into smart clothes for the day, and combed his hair quickly so the look was complete. Nodding to himself in the small mirror that was in their room, he turned to go out, and Dean stood in the doorway, narrowing his eyes at his brother.

Quickly trying to look as innocent as possible, Sam gave Dean a bright smile. "Morning!" He said cheerily.

Dean blinked at him and resumed his accusing expression. Clearly Sam was confusing him this morning. First, not waking up, then jumping out of bed and the room, then dressing smartly and being bright. Dean wasn't sure whether to be concerned, throw holy water at him or be annoyed or pleased.

Sam carefully walked towards the door to leave, ducking swiftly under his brother's outstretched arm, and looking innocently back at Dean's completely bemused expression.

"Um, Sam? Mind tellin' me what's goin' on around here? And with you?"

Sam winced. This was what he was trying to avoid. But if he didn't answer the questions satisfactorily, then Dean would be on his case, and work out something was wrong or out of place. Also he might worry about the wall and basically everything else that could be bad with Sam. Which was a long and rather depressing list.

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Sam replied as if it hardly mattered, "we're going out today. Just thought I'd look, you know, half presentable."

Rolling his eyes, Dean sighed. That was not an adequate answer. They didn't usually 'go out' anyway, and definitely not in smart atire. He decided to play along anyway. "Hunting?" he guessed.

Shaking his head, Sam tried to edge away, but Dean was still half-glaring at him.

Dean sighed. "Then what?" he asked somewhat impatiently. He didn't like to be left out of things that were happening. Especially things that were happening with his little brother that he didn't know about.

Realising a cause lost, Sam slumped his shoulders and tried not to look as defeated as he felt. He'd never been able to keep things from his big brother. Dean just needed to know, and that was the rule. One that Sam never had and never wanted to question.

Feeling Dean's questioning and slightly concerned gaze on him, Sam sighed and explained, "it's your birthday. I was going to do something special for you. And Bobby's in, too. Because... just because, you deserve it right now."

Trying not to look as surprised or touched as he was, Dean nodded thoughtfully. "Well, go ahead. It's not like I can stop you now anyway," he replied, smiling at his little brother's smile that could light up the world.

"Okay then! I'm still not telling you were we're going," Sam informed Dean importantly. "Just follow me."

Dean rolled his eyes, but couldn't help the little smirk he got from making Sammy happy. That was also his job. And going along with Sam's plans for a Dean Winchester birthday idea was not one to be messed with.

He followed Sam down the stairs and waited for Sam to call to Bobby that they were leaving, and Bobby to call back to inform him if either murdered each other. Sam and Dean shared a grin at their foster father's usual grumpy concern, and Sam led Dean out and to the Impala.

"Oh, wow, baby," Dean murmured when he saw the car. He rubbed his hand appreciatively over the shiny, new, paintwork, and realised, glancing at his brother just behind him, who was smiling again. "It is special stuff?" he asked.

Sam nodded. "Yep. Bobby told me how to do it. Kind of acidic, but only got a little bit on me. I'm good. It's good. And we need to get going," Sam told Dean briefly, walking towards the driver's door. "Oh, and -" he held up the keys "- I'm driving 'cause I know where I'm going."

Wrinkling his nose at the idea, but not vocally protesting, Dean slightly reluctantly went around to the passenger side of the car, and slid in the seat, glancing at his brother expectantly. "Well?"

"Now you wait," Sam replied, his smile making his eyes light up like a little kid again. Dean smiled at seeing his little brother happy, and decided to sit back and enjoy the ride. His baby, his kid. It didn't really get better than this.

Sam started the engine; Dean sighed in relief and allowed himself to slump back, eyes closed. He hoped it wasn't going to be a long trip, although spending time with the Impala and Sam was all that he needed.

* * *

The Impala rumbled to a halt, automatically waking Dean.

He sat up, yawning, and glanced at Sam, asking where they were. Sam didn't answer; instead he pulled two tickets from his pocket and jerked his head outside of the car to Dean.

Slightly grumpy about not being told where they were, Dean reluctantly took a look outside. And stared, amazed.

"No way..." Sam smiled at hearing the complete disbelief tone his brother's voice. Good. He wanted to make sure that Dean really did enjoy this day. And seeing AC/DC in the flesh, just across the VIP parking lot outside the venue, must help a bit.

Still in amazement, Dean automatically got out of the car and tore his eyes away from his favorite band in reality. "Wow, Sam, you've really outdone yourself here," he commented in awe to his brother, glancing briefly around. "This is fantastic!"

Sam smirked. "And it doesn't stop here," he told his brother, who slowly looked around, looking exactly like a 5 year old who has just been offered an ice cream.

The little brother held up the two tickets he had pulled out - they were entrances for a live, outside, AC/DC concert. Dean looked at them, then back at Sam, in amazement, like that was what he had been waiting for. But hunters don't have off days.

So while they were taking a break from the job, Sam could think of no better thing to do for Dean's birthday.

He was feeling slightly nervous about his brother's wavering stare though. Dropping the tickets from eye height a little so Dean could see him, Sam asked anxiously, "do you like it? Do you want to go in?"

Admittedly, Sam was never sure what his brother wanted. So though he had been going on about a concert by AC/DC going on soon close by them, Sam didn't know whether actually taking them to said concert, completely ditching the job for a day, was the best idea.

Turned out, it wasn't. No, it was better than that.

"Dude, this is amazing. The best birthday ever," Dean told Sam sincerely. "Seriously, this? It's... fantastic. Great day off." He winked at Sam, guessing what was going through his brother's mind.

Sam's face broke out in his easy laughing smile that could make the sun come out from the clouds. "You're welcome, Dean. Happy birthday," he replied softly.

Dean nodded in reply, his smile reaching his eyes for once. "Alright, enough of the lady-ness, can we please go rock out now?" he asked seemingly impatiently, striding towards Sam and taking a ticket from his hand, examining it.

"Alright. Let's do it," Sam agreed, turning around and leading Dean to the front gate of the arena. They gave their tickets in and entered what was going to bed the best activity, birthday or not, that anyone had ever done for Dean.

And who had organised it all? His pain-in-the-ass little brother. Whose smile was the brightest and only thing Dean ever wanted to see, the way he was seeing it now.

As long as one of them was happy, the other could share in their peacefulness. And now, both Winchesters were indeed peaceful.

Also, Sam knew that Bobby was, with pleasure, watching the phones to give other jobs to hunters and steer rumors and demons away from the Winchesters. He had their back as well.

Yes, their family was little... and broken. But it was family, and on days like this, when they could do something enjoyable without fear of death or injury, it was the best gift they could have. Ever.


	5. 4th Request from DeansSammy

**Ahhh I missed someone! So sorry about that, I must of misplaced your message :( Also a reminder to everyone - it I don't reply to your message and/or write your request, then I have MISSED IT somehow, so please remind me! I will never ignore you, I promise. So without further ado, here is the request from 'DeansSammy', who had a nice, interesting - and angsty! - idea. Here you go, and sorry again that I missed your message.**

**Season: **Uhh let's say Season Two (because there are so many later season ideas at the moment!) in the space of *2x10-17*

**Characters/Themes: **Sam, Dean; hospital, hurt/comfort, angst, arguments, car crash, blame (yeah you can tell this is gonna be super angsty)

**Request: **from 'DeansSammy' - "both going on a hunt, Sam Messing upand beig hurt,Dean being angry with him and shouting not watching traffic,having an accident,Sam getting more hurt,not waking up for a few days,Dean blaming himself,Sam waking up saying Sorry for Messing up and causing the accident. Dean being really shocked about that."

* * *

Hunting, as a general rule, was an everyday life-and-death situation. And include Winchester Luck in that, then there's basically a recipe for disaster. Disasters which, of course, usually happen.

So when Dean declared that they were going to hunt the most recent fugly that they were tracking the same night they just rolled into town, Sam stared at him, across the motel room, in disdain.

"Dean, you know we can't. We know nothing about the creature; it could be anything!" The younger Winchester pointed out, not all pleased with his brother's 'bright' idea. He knew that Dean felt he had to hunt, to let off steam - after the whole event with Ava and traces of the Demon, they were both restless.

Huffing, Dean barely spared his brother a glance as he packed their weapons in the bag. "Yes we can. It can't be anything more than a werewolf; the vic's bodies were ripped open," he replied logically.

This was true, but it didn't make Sam feel any better about going into a hunt completely unprepared. That went against every rule for hunters that had ever existed.

"The point being, we cannot just charge into the forest and expect the thing to come out at us so we can conviniently shoot it," Sam argued back. "We'll get hurt, or even killed!"

That point did actually stop Dean for a second, but then he shrugged and carried on, replying, "it'll be fine. Just shoot it and it's dead, end of."

He finished packing the weapons and slung the bag over a shoulder, walking towards the door. He glanced back, eyebrows raised. "Well, you don't have to come."

Sam glared at the idiot that was his brother. Dean knew that Sam wouldn't let him go on an unprepared hunt alone. If they were going to be stupid, they'd have to go down together. There was no other way.

So, although he really didn't like the idea, and strongly disagreed with Dean's correct but rather pathetic reasoning, Sam huffed and stood up, grabbing his jacket and the motel room key, and sullenly following his brother out of the door to the Impala.

Dean dropped the bag into the trunk and closed it before going around to the driver's side and getting in, waiting expectantly for Sam to enter the other side. Once both ready, Dean started the engine and tried to ignore his brother, who was looking out the window, sulking.

He sighed. It was no use. He could never ignore a sulky Sam. "Dude, it'll be fine. Worse that'll happen is we won't find it, and we'll just have to actually do some research and come back."

That just got his a bitchface for all his troubles, and Dean shrugged and focused on the road again. He'd tried.

They traveled in silence for about ten minutes before Sam muttered in reply, "you mean, I would have to research."

Dean smirked at his little brother's lame comeback and revved the engine.

* * *

About half an hour later, they arrived at their destination; a twilight-lit forest at the edge of a city. Pretty much a perfect place for a monster lair.

Despite not wanting to hunt, Sam immediately got into a correct frame of mind, getting out of the car as Dean did and joining his brother at the truck to accept his weapons. But he also tried to reason with Dean again.

"Come on, man, this isn't going to go well," he sighed, eyeing the forest apprehensively.

Dean rolled his eyes. "If you stopped bitching, it might go a bit better," he replied sweetly, rather roughly handing Sam his gun. All he got was another bitchface in return as Sam huffed and turned his back on Dean.

They shut the trunk and headed off, automatically listening out and watching each other's backs. At a growl close by, when they were about five minutes in, Sam and Dean looked at each other and with a silent nod, agreed to split up.

Perhaps it was then that they should of realised that splitting up for any reason was never a good idea. And definitely not when the enemy is not known.

Sam had already pointed out the danger of the hunt, due to an unknown monster and now they didn't even have each other in their sights. That meant that when Sam was silently jumped, Dean - looking through some trees out of ear shot away - did not know a thing.

Luckily, even though he didn't want to be on the hunt, Sam Winchester was a trained hunter, and trained by the best. On a good day, the monster didn't stand a chance against either of the Winchesters alone, and there was nothing to be said for going up against both of them together.

So the second that a vampire, no less - _not a werewolf must remember to kick Dean's ass later_ - jumped on the younger Winchester and immediately tried to bite him, Sam quickly threw the monster off his back and pointed his silver bullet charged gun at it.

Mentally facepalming for not thinking of bringing a machete as well, Sam hesitated, knowing he couldn't really do much with the gun. It would kill and werewolf but not do more than stun a vampire. Just frigging great.

He looked around just for a second, and that was all the monster needed.

It jumped up off the ground and at Sam again, and this time the hunter was more disorientated, and the vampire managed to latch its teeth onto his throat, bringing them crashing to the ground as Sam tried unsuccessfully to throw the monster off him again.

Eventually he succeeded in punching the vampire in the face, and it hissed and backed off slightly, licking its bloody lips. Sam clapped a hand to his neck and grunted at the pain there. Dizziness made itself known as he slowly stood up, gun pointed at the monster.

Stumbling slightly, Sam tried to hold the gun straight and get his thoughts together about what to do next. But the only coherent thought he could process though his rapidly numbing mind was _at least this was a quick hunt. Didn't even have to lure it out._

Dean was gonna be mad though. Maybe not mad at Sam - for once, though that wasn't really a possibility - but mad in general that they had split up, that he was wrong, that Sam had got himself hurt again because he wasn't focusing enough.

That just kind of sucked, to be honest; Sam didn't want to keep on about it, but when -

BAM. The vampire easily sensed a wavering prey and pounced again. This time, Sam lay there for a minute, feeling the thing suck at his neck and drain his ability to think clearly away.

Hunter's instincts kicked in and Sam tried to kick the vamp away. He barely succeeded, and now there was another one above him, and then the one on top of him screamed and its headless body fell beside him and _wait what..._

Sam blinked up at Dean, who was panting a little and glaring a lot. At Sam. He was pissed, then. Go figure.

Trying to gather his thoughts and keep them straight, Sam slowly rolled over slightly and pushed himself up, trying to carefully not stumble. Dean didn't need to know that he had managed to get himself hurt as well, dammit.

Dean continued to glare at his brother. Of course, _he _had thought to bring his machete. Sam had turned his back and so Dean had not given his to him. Although at this moment in time, Sam could hardly remember why he was making a fuss about a knife anyway. What on earth would he need a knife for?

"For God's sake, Sam, focus on the goddammit case! If you're going to come hunting with me, I expect you to actually watch what you're doing, and be properly equipped!"

Sam blinked. Apparently he and Dean were walking back through the forest to the car. Since when did that happen? Dean was on ahead, ranting about something or other and hunting and other stuff that Sam could barely understand. Trailing behind, Sam tripped and stumbled, walking in a daze.

"Next time, be honest; if you don't want to go on the hunt, then don't go! I'd rather I left your alive, sulky, ass back in a hotel room, than have to find you bled dry out here because you couldn't be freaking bothered to pay attention to the weapons you need for general hunting."

Well, in all honesty, Sam really had no idea what his brother was going on about now. He had the vague feeling that he had hit his head actually, maybe on a rock, and his neck ached for some reason. Maybe he'd cricked it. That sometimes happens when being thrown to the ground.

Sam blinked again. They were back at their car. It was nice; the car, that was, not the man shouting. In fact, Sam wasn't even sure if Dean was still talking. He couldn't hear him anyway.

Dean got into the car and Sam copied him, unsure of what else to do. He watched out the window as they drew away from the forest. Wait, there was a forest? Since when?

Shaking his head a little, making it pound and throb a more, Sam tried to figure out what had happened. All he knew was pain and confusion that came with blood loss. He was pretty sure there was a hunt in there somewhere though. Maybe a monster hunt. At least, that was what they were meant to be doing.

"In general, Sam - in general! Especially if you don't know what you're up against! You always take what you could need - knife, gun and holy water or salt! That's simple stuff!"

Sam blinked slowly at Dean. It was like he was shouting, but it didn't sound very clear. Almost underwater-like. Meanwhile, Dean was concentrating 70-30 on glaring at Sam than looking at the road.

That didn't really seem like the greatest idea, but Dean usually knew what he was doing.

After all, he wasn't the one that had managed to get attacked by and vampire and bitten and sucked blood from. Oh yeah, that had happened. Perhaps maybe that was where the confusion had come from then...

There was a jolt in the car. As in slow motion, Sam raised his head to look out the front window. He heard Dean swear in surprise and the car tilted. They swerved to avoid the lorry that was blaring its horn.

But they didn't stop swerving. And crashed into a tree.

Of all things... in fact, that could probably sum up everything wrong in the day. Something about a hunt, Sam supposed, as that was what they were - hunters. Good job, now he thought about it.

Anyway, he didn't really care about trees any more, because he was very tired. He could just sleep for a moment. Just a moment. Maybe his cloudy head would be able to think better in the morning.

"Sam? Sammy! Don't you dare pass out on me, man, I swear - that wasn't even that bad, okay, right? What's wrong? Sam!"

Hm, that sounded kind of urgent. It kept Sam from sleeping for a moment though, so he wasn't particularly impressed. Plus wasn't that the same voice that had just been ranting at or to him for the past ten minutes...?

A hand tilted his face, but the touch was gentle. Blurry, through barely open eyes, Sam could see him. The, uh, other person in the car. Right. Yeah, that man. The one who saved him? The one who was shouting?

Though he looked kind of worried now. In fact, almost panicked. Vaguely, Sam wondered what he was thinking about. Sam was quite peaceful in his thoughts. It was nice actually.

So he wasn't pleased when the same person shook him slightly. Jeez, couldn't this man chill out? Sam was tired, he wanted to _sleep_. Sleep was good.

Ow. The person had found the wound on his neck. It hurt, anyway, so it was probably a cut of some kind. It seemed to concern the man, though, because his eyes widened in horror as he realised something. Sam still didn't really care. He closed his eyes, hoping for some rest.

"Dammit - _dammit _Sammy! Hang on, hang on, shh, it's okay, but please don't go to sleep, you have to stay awake... I just gotta call an ambulance... shoulda listened to you... I'm sorry, Sam... Shit! Don't go to sleep!"

The Voice got quickly more urgent, and Sam was shaken again, this time more forcefully. The man was talking now, but not to Sam, he assumed, because this talk was quiet and panicked. No, the man liked to shout at Sam.

Well, that was okay. After all, it was all Sam's fault one way or another.

He fell into darkness despite Dean's pleas and Sam knew no more; not the sirens approaching or his brother's frantic fear.

* * *

Sam sighed. He was someplace warm. Soft. Clean, too; he could smell some kind of... antiseptic? Hm, made a change from the forest.

Wait - _antiseptic? _The _forest_?

Dean.

With that one thought that overrode everything, Sam's eyes flew open and he began to struggle up. Almost immediately a hand was planted firmly on his chest, forcing him back down.

He could hear his brother talking, though his eyes had fallen closed again somehow. He listened to Dean's voice and immediately calmed.

"Wow! Sammy, shh, calm down." A hand briefly but very gently brushed back his fringe. "Just take it easy. I'm here."

Of course Dean was there. Still, that didn't change the fact that it was all Sam's fault. He should of stopped his brother, not gone with him. _Dammit, Sam_, he remembered.

No, but wait. That was twice. The first time, in anger, yes. A hunt gone wrong, as usual. Not enough intel, too little focus. Sam's fault. He was the one that got jumped. And therefore left his brother unprotected. Just because he wasn't paying attention.

But the second time... yes, the second time was in panic. Urgency.

"You ready to slowly sit up now, Sam?" Dean's voice. It represented calm, and everything right.

Sam nodded a tiny bit, knowing better than to try it himself. He had an amazing older brother who would take care of it. Of course he would. Dean would take care of anything. Sam just wished sometimes that Dean would realise that he'd do anything for his older brother too.

Sure enough, Dean carefully helped Sam into a sitting position on the bed that he realised he was in. A hospital, of course.

"You wanna open your eyes now?" Gentle, so quiet. "Sam, look at me." A little more commanding, but still sacredly quiet. A tough, hard hunter on the outside; with Sam, Dean was more gentle than a mother.

Sam didn't really want to open his eyes, because he was still fuzzy and his head hurt, now he thought of it. But Dean had asked. So he slowly blinked open his eyes.

Of course, Dean was there. He was sitting beside Sam's bed, traditionally unshaven and unkempt. His eyes showed relief and guilt and quenched fear. Hidden for the safety and protection of his little brother.

"Hey," he smiled, heartfelt relief in his voice. Now his brother was awake, he could handle the rest.

After a moment, Sam frowned slightly, and closed and opened his eyes again, trying to sort out his vision. He looked around the room a little; it was just a normal hospital single room, small and clinical. Not Intensive Care or anything major. That was good.

His gaze traveled back to Dean, who smiled again at his little brother encouragingly.

"What was wrong?" Sam murmured, not completely sure about the use of speaking. Then, as an afterthought, added a better question; "when should we leave?"

Dean quirked a small smile that meant _dammit Sam, look after yourself for once_. But he answered Sam's questions anyway, because the information was important. Not to remember - Dean never wanted to remember Sam being in hospital or hurt in any way whatsoever (but he always did, of course) - but because he had the right to know what happened.

"Didn't tell me you were bit, Sammy," Dean replied, leaning back a little and watching Sam prop himself up on his elbow instead so he could stay sitting up and watch Dean. Like it was the most important thing in his life. And damn right it was.

Sam blinked. He remembered. "Oh." After a pause, he added, "didn't want to make things worse."

Huffing a humorous laugh, Dean eyed his little brother. Sam seemed quite responsive now, so hopefully they could sneak out soon.

"Well, that meant pretty bad blood loss for one Sam Winchester. Think you lost that match there," Dean replied, trying as usual to lighten the events.

Sam hummed a response, wanting - well, needing - to hear the rest of the story. If he ended up in hospital, then it had to be bad. Winchesters didn't use hospitals except for emergencies. It was just that, unfortunately, hunting meant lots of emergencies.

"Anyway, and then it didn't help that I was kind of not focusing on the road so uhh..." Dean winced at what he was about to say. "Um, I crashed the car." He sighed in defeat, and met Sam's surprised look. "I mean, it's not too bad. We'll have to go to Bobby's anyway to fix it up, it's just as well you can rest up too," he added slightly defensively.

Sam smiled a little. Of course they were going to take some off time now.

"So, uh, it wasn't too bad - think we kinda bashed the tree in though - but apparently it, uh, was enough to uh shock your body into emergency-shut-down mode."

Wincing, Sam nodded. Yeah, that made sense.

Dean sighed. "Well, I panicked because I couldn't even figure out what was wrong at first - I mean," he added hastily, "I should of noticed _before _we got in the car and went driving."

No surprises there. Dean was blaming himself again. So before he could go any further, Sam interrupted.

"It was my fault, though."

That just earned him an exasperated look from a burnt out big brother. But Sam didn't let Dean correct him.

"I mean, I was being a bit of a dick. And I wasn't organised. Or particularly focused. And in conclusion," he continued before Dean could cut him off, "I shouldn't of just let you go ahead with the hunt."

Dean blinked at him.

Sam stared back with a confused expression.

"Dude, do I need to throw holy water in your face?"

And, finally, both Winchesters honest-to-God chuckled quietly, to each other, and because of each other.

"Oh, and, clearly you're fine, princess smart-ass," Dean told Sam with a smirk. "So we're busting out tonight. Hate this stinking place anyway." He wrinkled his nose and looked around the room disdainfully.

Sam chuckled to himself and moved his left arm, wincing as he felt a couple of drip needles, one - no doubt after what Dean had told him - probably blood, pull at the movement. Dean watched him, eyes narrowed, ready to help if needed. Sam knew that when he said that he hated the place... he meant when he was sitting, worried to death, at his little brother's bedside.

And, coincidentally enough, that was exactly why Sam hated hospitals too. The waiting game was the most miserable and intense - and _dreaded _- in their family.

But, sooner or later the other woke up, and they would bust out of hospital at night, because they knew once the urgency had past, that they could take care of it themselves, in some motel, or sometimes just on the road.

Their life was one of hunts and injuries and panic, but at least they had each other. Often, that was all they needed.


	6. 5th Request from AshleyMarie84

**It's Easter soon! So I am working on writing an Easter story, bc Winchesters plus holidays just can't go according to plan, can it...! That'll be all you amazing people's Easter gift, because your requests keep me going, so thank you for that :) There are 2 requests I'm working on at the moment, and this is the first one, set in Season 8 and the Trials, with Sam and animals! Kittens, to be precise. Shush, it doesn't make sense but how can one argue with Sam and animals :D Hope you all enjoy a little break from angst! Also, though, I got Impala feels whilst writing the start... /sigh -Rayne**

**Season: **Eight, second half, before say **8x20**

**Characters/Themes: **Sam, Dean, Kittens (:D) ; sickness, happiness, comfort, caring, family, friendship, animals

**Request: **from 'AshleyMarie84' - "Love these! I have a thing for Sam and animals, So could you write something about Sam finding a litter of kittens and caring for them. Maybe set it during the . Trials so Dean is happy that his brother has something to keep him distracted from how sick he's feeling."

* * *

Sam walked down the street from the Bunker, restless and just needing some fresh air. He'd mumbled something to Dean about going out, grabbed his jacket, phone, wallet and gun - obviously - and left quickly, leaving his brother slightly confused.

He sighed as he tried to focus on where he was going, not actually having an idea in his mind. He just wanted out; out of the Bunker, out of this Trial crap, and out of feeling equally like crap.

The Bunker was on his mind, though, as he walked along the street, heading vaguely for a small town that was just about within walking distance. The place that they now apparently had to call Home.

Dean had settled right in, and had started with his 'nesting' - something that Sam couldn't remember ever seeing before. But, as far as he was concerned, the Bunker was just where they worked, where they researched, and where they could be safe from anything.

It wasn't really home. The only home Sam had ever known was on four wheels, and it was the only home he ever really needed. The Impala may be old, and cramped when stuck in it for hours at a time with an annoying older brother, but she was there for them.

After all, only the Impala had taken enough blood on her seats to wring out a sponge. Only their car had been ground up, and crashed, and possessed, and still came through. And the love that Dean showed the maintenance of the car easily reflected when anyone looked at her. She was always kept shining with black, her windows clean, her tyres wiped the worst of the mud of.

She was always there for them. So that was why Sam was having a hard time figuring out what _home _really was apart from their car.

And that train of thought was what had resulted with the younger Winchester having to get out of their new 'home', just for a walk, just to calm down, take a break, and try to ignore the constant pains in his body.

Which was hard. Of course. What part of their lives was ever easy?

Because these goddamn Trials were really beginning to take it out of him, ever since he started coughing blood. Sam was resigned to the fact that Dean now knew about this, especially after what Cas had said, about being 'not fine'.

However, it still fell on Sam to protect his brother from most of the information about what the Trials were doing to him. Because they were doing a lot. And not a good lot.

It meant that even at the moment, every step Sam took away from the safety of the Bunker - yeah, Dean was going to kick his ass for that later - caused pain to spring into life; it felt like a hundred big needles drilling into his skin at once, taking his blood, sapping his energy.

Each cough burned his lungs, left a metallic taste in his mouth... the taste of _death_. At least, most of the time that's what it was. Because coughing up blood meant internal injuries, nothing that could be cured with Winchester first aid. So that meant, most of the time, hospital or death. And hell if Sam was going to go to ER. They couldn't help, anyway.

So Sam kept this information from his brother. In an attempt to seem healthier than he really was so that Dean would maybe be able to occasionally stop worrying as much as he always did.

But of course that was a lost cause. No matter what Sam said or did, his actions always spoke louder than words. Dean could read him after a whole life of experience, and knew when he was hurting.

Brooding was one of Sam's best subjects, and so he settled for a thoughtful silence as he walked. In fact, he was so busy thinking that he almost missed the quiet sound that came from somewhere off in the grass just over there...

As a hunter, Sam was immediately alert. But as he heard the sound again, and edged closer towards it, he could only identify it as _cats meowing_.

What the hell...?

Sure enough, as he got close enough, he could see a closed box nestled, pretty much hidden, in the middle of a grassy patch. Frowning, thoughts of danger and hurt forgotten, Sam knelt down in the morning dew-wet grass to take a closer look.

He carefully slipped a finger beneath the top flap and pulled it open, causing the other three flaps to open too, and reveal what was inside.

Which was, as the noise had proven, a small litter of about six kittens.

Amazed, Sam sat back on his heels, watching the small creatures paw weakly at the edges of the box. They couldn't be older than a month or so, and seemed dehydrated and hungry, if their mewing was anything to go by.

Sam looked around, wary for a mother cat to jump at him. But there was nothing nearby, not even any sounds apart from the birds tweeting. It was quite peaceful, until a car would roar down the road beside the grass and trees.

No doubt if the little things were to ever get out of the box - which was quite possible - then they would wonder blindly into the road and be immediately run over, or hit and die slowly.

Seeing the kittens flickered something in Sam. Animals getting run over... that wasn't happening on his watch again. Not after Riot...

Shaking his head to rid of those thoughts - _it'sokayDean'sbacknowit'sokaythathappenedbutthisishappeningrightnow _- he gently put a hand into the box to see what the little creatures would do.

One or two attempted to play-bite; their tiny teeth barely making Sam wince (_we'vedonealotmorewithpainSammy_) and he quickly stroked a beautiful black and white one for a moment, blinking hard to try and rid of the sudden flashbacks.

A couple more kittens pawed at his sleeve and the last one tried to mew extra loudly to attract his attention. Sam felt a smile spread across his face. These animals were hungry and needed caring for. And that, Sam could do.

He tucked the flaps back together to shut the box, and scooped it up in his arms, before changing his mind and putting it back down, instead reaching for his phone in his pocket. Maybe he could do with some backup for an unusual rescue...

* * *

Dean flicked through a super boring book without reading it, and rubbed his eyes before glancing at his watch. He frowned slightly; Sam had been gone for about an hour now. Scowling at the thought of letting his weakened brother go off alone anyway, Dean debated whether it was worth calling his brother just to hear the bitching in his voice of how he didn't need babysitting.

Just as he was pondering that thought, his phone began to vibrate and ring, and a glance showed that it was Sam. Dean quickly answered and put the mobile to his ear.

"Yeah? Missing me, Samantha*?"

However, Sam's exasperated sigh that usually accompanied a jibe like that wasn't present, and that got Dean immediately concerned more than anything else.

"Sam? What's wrong?" he asked warily, conscious that his brother hadn't replied yet, even though he was the one that had called Dean.

There was another second of silence before Sam said, sounding breathless, "listen, can you come pick me up?"

Dean frowned, concerned, but already standing up and reaching for his jacket. "Sure, where are you? I'll be right there."

"Thanks." Sam still sounded occupied, more than anything. "I'm on the street, just from the town corner."

"Alright. What's wrong?" Dean asked again, because even as he headed up the stairs and out the door, he worried about what Sam could be calling backup for. He liked to walk, and run, the health nut, so unless he was injured or sick, he'd usually...

Ah, yes. Because Sam _was_ sick at the moment. Yeah, that whole thing really sucked. Getting in the Impala now, with increasing urgency, Dean waited for Sam's report on why he was calling his brother.

"Um, nothing much," Sam eventually replied, trying to sound casual. "I just... found something and could do with a lift rather than taking it all the way back."

Dean sighed. He didn't really expect much more of a structured answer from his brother. "Alright. I'll be there in five."

"Thanks," Sam repeated, and abruptly hung up.

As he drew closer to the street that Sam had been walking down, Dean kept an eye out for his brother. Soon he saw him, crouched in the grass watching something. Frowning, Dean pulled up near to him.

Sam looked around when he heard the sound of the Impala, and his face brightened slightly seeing Dean. And that Dean couldn't help but smile slightly at as he waited patiently for Sam to come and get into the car.

He did, after picking a box up from the ground. Approaching the car, he looked nervous, and slowly walked around to the passenger side, getting in and putting the box on his lap.

After shutting the door, Sam tried to avoid Dean's expectant look. "Um, are we gonna go back?" he asked innocently.

That got him narrowed eyes from his brother, who clearly already suspected something. Nevertheless, Dean sighed and revved the engine, the Impala turning around and heading back home.

Drawing up outside the Bunker, Dean turned to Sam and glanced at the box. "Well?" he asked in a tone of _you're telling me now_.

Shifting uncomfortably, Sam hesitated before replying. "Well, uh, I was just walking, just to think, and uh I heard this sound, so I went to investigate, and well..."

He tilted the box towards Dean, who eyed it cautiously until Sam sighed in exasperation. "Look, it's not dangerous, else I wouldn't have brought it back," he pointed out impatiently, which was true.

So with a resigned look, Dean carefully opened the box, and stared in surprise at what was inside before looking back at his brother, who looked like a kid that had just been given a bag of cookies.

The look of excitement that Sam was giving Dean was so infectious that Dean had to quirk a smile back. "Okay, they're cute," he allowed, glancing back at the kittens in the box, who were pawing the edges and climbing over each other, mewing.

"I thought we could uh look after them for tonight, then take them to the Shelter tomorrow morning," Sam said hesitantly, waiting for Dean's reaction to his idea. As he watched Dean consider it - his brother admittedly wasn't _such _a fan of taking care of animals - he felt a tingling at the back of his throat.

Not wanting to cough, especially not now, and not in front of Dean, Sam tried to discretely clear his throat, but the metallic tang was too much. Quickly, he clasped one hand on the edge of the box to hold it steady in his lap as he reached up the other hand to cover his hoarse cough, turning away from Dean, who was immediately on the alert, and was watching Sam, concerned.

As usual, red decorated his hand and Sam hastily wiped it on his jeans - not on the car, obviously - and cleared his throat before turning back to Dean, who was eyeing him in an assessing way. "Okay?" Dean asked, all sincere.

Sam nodded, cursing his body. He didn't want to ruin the moment, dammit. He suddenly realised that something was touching his hand, and looked in surprise at the box, Dean following his gaze.

Three or so of the kittens were playing with Sam's hand that was holding the box steady, pawing it and mewing with pleasure. This made Sam smile, all brightness and pleasure. Dean saw this and the effect it had on his brother, and...

Well, with Sam so miserable and hurting from the effects of the Trials, it took something amazing - like his brother, sometimes - to get him to calm down and relax, and smile.

"Okay, we can keep them for the night," he pretended to allow, smiling; really he had been going to say yes all along, and Sam knew it.

Sitting in the only true home he had ever known, his brother by his side and something to help, that he could actually help, Sam smiled again, all dimples and forgiveness and caring. "Thanks, Dean," he replied, sincere, before the two got out of the car to go into their Bunker.

Dean just nodded in response, watching his brother and not even caring about anything else in the world at the moment.

Because Sam's smile was worth the world to Dean.

* * *

*This is a shoutout to a Guest who reviewed and left a request, but I didn't feel comfortable with it, so I haven't done it. However, they asked for the use of 'Samantha' to be used, so I'm using it in this story instead, as a shoutout for thanks to requesting, and sorry about your story!


	7. 6th Request from DearHart

**Sorry this took so long! I was going to write last weekend, but it was busy with Easter celebrations and whatnot, though luckily it went a bit better than Christmas. And then it was back to college, which didn't go very well either. So, finally, here's the next request, from 'DearHart', set in the latest episode minus one a couple of weeks ago. She asked for a continuing scene from the one where Sam finds Dean out of it at the factory. That I can do! Protective Sam is literally just all the ideas at the moment. Protective brothers are the best, out of all. Onwards, for brotherness and protectiveness. PS: I tried to write this at night but I just couldn't manage to write any ideas down at all, so despite my friend Carys' help via fb, it was really hard to begin to write. Hope it's okay!**

**Season: **Season Nine, set in the episode **9.18** Meta Fiction, aired last week - so spoilers if you're not up to date!

**Characters/Themes: **Sam, Dean, (um, unconscious Gadreel...?); family, hurt/comfort, brothers, help, consequence of power, mark of cain

**Request: **from 'DearHart' - "Can u PLEASE write a continuation to the scene where Sam finds Dean totally out of it back at the factory? He looked SOOOO scared when he saw Dean on the floor and I just... I LOVE hurt/out of it/Dean and worried/frantic/Sam."

* * *

Sam shifted his crouched position slightly as he hesitated on how to actually undertake the task at hand.

He needed to get an unconscious angel into the boot of the Impala, parked haphazardly outside, whilst coaxing his practically unresponsive brother to, if not help, take himself to the car safely and get in.

He glanced at said brother again, weighing the situation. Dean still seemed strangely dissociated, glancing at the beaten up angel sprawled beside him briefly before returning his unseeing gaze to the floor, not concentrating in the slightest.

Thinking of which, how the hell did Dean manage to beat an _angel _unconscious with his bare fists?

Feeling a prickling on the back of his neck at the mere thought of such power, Sam suddenly could only think of the demons that were held at his own mercy by the demon-blood induced powers...

Shaking his head to get rid of such thoughts, Sam focused on his brother again. "Hey, Dean?" he tried gently.

Slowly, as if it confused him to do so, Dean tried to process his little brother's voice, and raised his head, finding Sam's concerned eyes watching him. "Hm?" he offered as a reply.

It was as good as any. At least Dean seemed a little more attentive.

"Look, Dean, we have to move," Sam told him, allowing a note of urgency into his voice. "We have to get Gadreel to the meetup and trap Metatron before six."

He was aware he was repeating himself, but he doubted Dean noticed, or was really paying much attention. However, he registered the urgency and request in his brother's voice, and started to push himself up.

Tensing, Sam rose at the same time as Dean stood up, waiting to see if he stumbled. But this was Dean Winchester, who's stubborn ass had got him in so much trouble in the past that Sam doubted he was going to stop now. So Dean did manage to push himself up using the wall and the floor, and stand up quite straight, ignoring his brother's unspoken offer for help.

True, Dean had always thought Sam would be there to help him, whatever happened... but after Gadreel's speech, suddenly he wasn't so sure. What if Sam really did think everything that Gadreel had claimed? After all, the angel was inside his brother for a good long time.

Which was his fault, of course. Always his fault. Always failing his dad - _look out for Sammy. _Oh yeah. That laughable advice.

"Dean?" Sam's voice was soft, concerned. Dean blinked and looked at his brother standing next to him, one hand held out slightly as if to catch Dean if he so much as stumbled. A gesture that meant so much.

But the raging fire that had started in his forearm, underneath the scar, like something trying to escape his skin... this was something Sam couldn't save him from. And if that scared Dean, then, hell, it would terrify Sam.

Trying to bring himself back to the present, not lost in flashbacks and thoughts that Gadreel's cruel comments had triggered, Dean ignored his brother's silent offer for help again and instead assessed the situation.

Sam watched as Dean looked around, narrowing his eyes as if he had forgotten where he was, what had happened here, what he was meant to be doing now. It was incredibly unsettling to see Dean so uncoordinated.

"Come on, we have to get Gadreel in the car. It's parked outside. We'll put him in the trunk, okay?"

The simple sentences from his brother seemed to help Dean, and the older Winchester nodded in reply before turning to look down disdainfully at the unconscious angel.

"He was... just so infuriating. And he wanted to die. So I couldn't kill him," Dean struggled to explain to Sam. His brother just nodded in understanding, unable to keep concern from his gaze as he watched Dean.

"It's okay. You didn't kill him, so it's okay. And we need to take him to the meetup, so we can get Cas back, and try to trap Metatron," Sam told him, repeating again, so Dean would understand.

Blinking at Sam, Dean replied, "didn't you already say that?"

Sam let out a sigh of relief and tried to smile; his brother seemed finally to be coming back to himself, the aftereffects of the Mark's violence that had left him weak slowly receding.

"Alright." Dean, feeling his strength come back as his scrambled mind settled and the burn on his forearm died down, began to take control of the situation. "I'll take him out to the car. You clear up a little in here and follow, yeah?"

Deciding that as Dean was now responsive to the situation he wouldn't argue, Sam simply nodded and walked slowly away, towards the chair where Gadreel was tied to and the blood pooling on the floor from the torture Dean had put him through.

Not that Sam was complaining.

He watched from behind some rails as Dean kicked the unconscious angel before dragging him up and putting him in a headlock, not caring about how rough he was being. Well, Gadreel deserved it. He then started to drag the angel with him outside, muttering a sarcastic "oh, sorry" when Gadreel grunted in pain.

Sam watched them until they left the warehouse, then sighed to himself and turned his attention to, as Dean had put it, clearing up. It wasn't particularly necessary, but just in case someone walked into the place, they wouldn't really want to be greeting with what looked like the scene of a crime.

Eyeing the whole place, Sam noted it was pretty much clean. He picked up the chair and shoved it against a wall, to be more inconspicuous, before rubbing the blood with his foot and finding it already drying. It would stain the floor, but it was darkening with reacting with the air already. It would be unrecognisable soon, as Sam knew from experience.

Wanting to leave this place and the trauma it now represented, Sam quickly turned for the exit and hurried outside, hoping that Dean hadn't finished off Gadreel. As much as that angel deserved to die a thousand times over, without him Cas would die, and it just wasn't worth the risk.

Not that Metatron could really be trusted, but if they could catch him then maybe they could kill Gadreel too, as the douchebag should be subjected to a terrible fate before finally being put down like the traitor he was.

Because as well as tricking his brother, the angel had also screwed with Sam, and subjected the younger Winchester's body to terrible torture in the hands of Crowley, leaving unforgettable trauma in his wake.

Thinking all of this made Sam's blood boil and the rage he had felt before build in his body until he wanted to kill that damn angel with his own hands. But he couldn't. Not at the moment anyway.

Taking a breath of fresh air to try and calm down as he walked out of the warehouse, he instinctively looked towards the Impala, for Dean.

Said brother was leaning against the side of the car, the beaten angel at his feet. If Gadreel had woken up from the impact, then Dean had knocked him right out again, obviously not in the mood at all to listen to any more of the angel's spiteful comments.

He glanced up as Sam approached, and automatically held out his hand for the keys. Sam hesitated, remembering how weak his brother was just a few moments ago.

"Dean... are you sure you want to-" Sam began, to be cut off.

"Yes. Sam, I need the distraction." Still Sam hesitated, and Dean looked him in the eye. "Please."

With a nod, Sam tossed him the keys - a test. Dean caught them easily and immediately walked over to the trunk, opening it. Sam moved to help, but Dean waved him back.

"Just get in," he told Sam, sounding weary. After a second's hesitation, Sam nodded, turning away and getting into the shotgun seat. He watched in the wing mirror as Dean dragged the angel up and dumped him into the trunk, making sure he was shoved in enough to close it.

Slamming shut the boot, he sighed and stood there for a minute, watched nervously by Sam in the mirror, who forced himself to stay sat. Then Dean walked around to the other side of the car, slipping in and closing the door.

Sam watched his brother with open worry. Finding Dean on the floor of the warehouse, weak and barely conscious from some aftereffect of the power of Cain, would be something Sam wouldn't forget for a long time.

It was always unsettling to see his brother hurt, but hurt by something that he couldn't really control... something that was sure to consume him from the inside out, leaving nothing but pure rage? That was more than Sam could stand.

"Dean..." Sam hesitated, and his brother looked over at him, defenses clear in his eyes. "You're still in control, right?"

Raising an eyebrow, Dean offered, "uh, I'm not possessed...?"

Sam shook his head. "I mean..." he sighed, knowing that he wanted to say this, whatever his brother was going to react. "Don't get taken over, okay? Stay... yourself."

Dean stared at him for a minute, before sighing wearily and turning his attention to the road, starting the engine. Sam swallowed, hating it when his brother didn't reply to such a plea for comfort of mind.

He watched the warehouse out the window as they drew away from it, away from where the betraying angel should of died, away from where the Mark of Cain that was slowly changing Dean's actions had left the elder Winchester weak and unstable on the floor. Away from more trauma in their lives.

Sam sighed and watched all of that disappear from view, but never from mind. He glanced at his brother, worry clear in his gaze, before turning his eyes to watching the oncoming road as the sun began to rise as they drove.

On the road together through another dawn, how it used to be. But it wasn't any more. Something had changed. Too much had changed.

* * *

**I'm sorry for how this turned out, and how long it took to write. I simply could not get the idea of what would happen straight in my head, and to me it's just turned out in a jumble of words that don't make much sense. But I hope it's okay anyway. I've got 3 more requests in line to write, and I'll be getting on with them ASAP, but I don't know how long they'll be. Thank you for reading.**


	8. 7th Request from AlxM

**After the last request was so long, I decided to buckle down a bit, seeing as I'm home sick for a few days at the moment, which sucks. So here's the next request, set Season Eight Trial era. Ooh, yes, that I can do! The only other things I'm doing at the moment is performing movie marathons - Toy Story & Ice Age at the weekend, and Pirates of the Caribbean on Monday while off college. Anyway, so here's the next story. Apologies in advance for how long it may take to write; hope it's alright. NOTE: this chapter holds a Trigger Warning for Panic Attacks, because it was the best thing I could think up that fit the request. This means I was writing about a trigger of my own, but I've done that before, so I can manage it, it's fine. Just be warned and don't read if you think it could trigger you. Just trying to keep everyone safe :)**

**Season: **Eight, set Trial-era just before **8.21**

**Characters/Themes: **Sam, Dean; Trials, sickness, panic attack, hurt/comfort - especially comfort

**Request: **from 'AlxM' - "Because of the trials, Sam somehow stops breathing for a sufficiently long enough time. He ends up fine of course, because of a certain awesome big brother. But Dean seriously starts freaking out afterwards, like the awesomely overprotective big bro he is, all yelling and pissed and guilty and maybe to the point of a few tears. Sammy's all weak after the ordeal and puppy-like and little brotherly and still manages to calm him down"

* * *

Restless, Sam Winchester shifted his position as he lay on his bed in the Bunker, their home now. At least, his brother called it home.

The list of ailments that Sam could come up with on the spot that he was feeling at the moment was so long that he would need about three pens with the most ink possible in them to write all his thoughts down.

Well, maybe that was a bit of an exaggeration, but he did feel very sick. Not that it would help to admit this, to Dean least of all. If Dean couldn't help Sam - which he couldn't, despite his persevering attempts - then he didn't need to know.

Said brother was worrying enough about Sam as it was. Since the second trial, the symptoms had gotten worse, until his unsteadiness had led to almost passing out from standing up - while Charlie was there, no less.

This had simply led to being benched from the job, until Sam had decided enough was enough and, after failing to preach to Dean that staying home would do him no better good anyway, went out after the hunter and hunter-in-training anyway. Which, predictably, had led to him feeling worse than before.

He had crashed in his bedroom the night Charlie had left, but had barely go any proper rest. After over a day's sleep after the second trial - which Dean had concernedly noted immediately after Sam had stumbled into the main room, seeming hardly able to walk straight - it seemed that his body was too busy trying to fight the illness the plagued him to let his mind actually stop whirling for a few hours.

Consequently, a lack of sleep had swiftly led to a lack of strength; even more so than what the trial sickness had and was taking from him.

All of these thoughts running through Sam's mind, and more, made him simultaneously weakly angry but exhausted. He knew there was nothing left that didn't hurt like hell. The blood he coughed up was darkening - it in itself a result from some internal damage, and the darker it got the worse the damage seemed.

Overall, he was tired. Worried and scared, and just plain tired. Well, scared was a simply way to put it. Terrified was more like it. Complete and utterly in fear of what was happening, and what would happen...

Sam realised his breath was quickening, and he cursed himself. Dammit. And _this _was what he was trying to avoid - panicking.

There was a soft knock at his door that made Sam jump, almost panting as he tried to breathe, coming to the quick and correct conclusion that he was swiftly nearing hyperventilation. Simply because of thinking too hard. God_dammit._

However, help was soon at hand. Not hearing any response from inside the room, Dean frowned and pushed the slightly ajar door open more so he could see inside the room. "Sammy?" he questioned, hesitating. He really didn't want to interrupt any rest his brother may finally be getting, but the need to check on Sam was overwhelming.

And the state that his brother was in right now confirmed that overprotective need at the correct way forward.

Because as Dean stepped into the room, he could see Sam struggling to sit up on his bed, labored breathing easily heard as he equally struggled against the panic that was beginning to invade his mind, because his thoughts could no longer be silent.

The big brother was immediately on the alert, at Sam's side in an instant. As he rubbed his brother's back and whispered soothing nothings, he wondered what had brought this on. Pain? Fear? Simply just thinking too deeply?

Whatever it was, it had a hold on Sam and was not letting go. Instead of calming in Dean's presence, Sam's breathing got faster, to the point of hyperventilating, and he tried to lean his head down to try and catch him breath, chest heaving as he fought to stay focused.

Dean quickly realised what this was - a full on panic attack. And one that was not just letting Sam get away with a little panic; no, this was scaling into a complete and utter unable to breath fear and worry induced flare of panic that was gripping Sam tightly.

Searching his mind for how to appropriately react, Dean slipped off the bed to kneel in front of Sam, one hand on his shoulder, the other on his knee, trying to catch Sam's eye, because it was the only way that the kid was going to stop panicking and calm the fuck down.

"Sam, listen to me. Calm down. Just breathe. It's okay, you can breathe. Slow it down, calm down," Dean ordered, rubbing soothing circles with his fingers. Sam finally caught his eye, but instead of calming down and breathing slower, he shook his head silently, fear in his eyes, and groaned, closing his eyes and rubbing his chest and pain overtook him.

Panic started to threaten at Dean's mind too. Whatever this was, it was more than just a panic attack. Something to do with the trials, no doubt. Those goddamn trials, screwing with his brother. Anger, not at Sam, took the place of coming panic, and Dean was able to focus on calming his brother again.

"Listen, Sam, you have to slow down your breathing. You're panicking, okay, you need to calm down. Just breathe, and focus on me," he urged. Sam shook his head again and started coughing, the hand that wasn't rubbing his chest flying up to his mouth to cover the cough.

Dean winced at the deep, hoarse, coughing, and gently rubbed Sam's shoulder, waiting for it to be over. "Just take it easy, Sammy. Calm down," he soothed.

But when Sam pulled his hand away from his mouth, it was covered in blood. The mere sight made his eyes slam closed in panic and his breath ratcheted back up to hyperventilating again.

For his own part, Dean was stunned too. The blood that almost freaking covered Sam's hand was dark, signifying something deeply wrong. Quickly focusing back on his continuously panicking brother, Dean shoved his worry aside to try and help Sam calm down.

"I know it looks bad, but it'll be okay, I'm here, it's okay little brother. I'm here to help, and you are not going to panic all night," Dean told Sam with conviction. "Come on, calm down, breathe slowly like this."

Dean made a good attempt to slow his own breathing, for Sam to follow that pattern, and to his credit, he did try for a minute, but then the cough racked his weak frame again and more dark blood ended up on his hand, sending him into another frenzy of panic.

Feeling lost, Dean couldn't do more than rub Sam's knee and shoulder softly and whisper increasingly desperate reassurances at him. "Sammy, please calm down... if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to drag your ass to a hospital, or drug you, or something," Dean said urgently.

Sam was breathing so fast he just couldn't catch his breath any more. He tried to reach out a hand for his brother, and Dean gripped his hand. "Dean... can't... breathe," he wheezed, bowing his head more, fighting to take in a slow breath, and not succeeding, his body succumbing to weakening pants as he began to lose consciousness.

"Okay, okay, I know Sam, but you have to try. You can talk, then you can breathe. Just try to take it slow," Dean said softly, increasing urgency in his voice.

Again, Sam tried to slow down his breathing, but he just couldn't, and that scared him as much as the trial business and the blood and he just couldn't and he was coughing again, and he couldn't see, his vision whitening out, and he wondered if he was going to die here, because he couldn't breathe and _Dean Dean I can't breathe..._

Something thumped him on the back and he coughed, blood smeared all over his hand now, and he couldn't deal with that, and he still couldn't see, and _Dean help please _and the hand hit his back between the shoulder blades again, and he coughed and drew in a ragged breath finally, and his vision filtered back, and the hand on his back stayed there and rubbed soothing circles.

Sam would of liked it to stay like that, but he still couldn't see, and maybe that was because his eyes were closed, but he couldn't remember closing them, but it was so dark, and he could hear his heart thumping in his ears, and it was so loud, and it was slowing...

Dean felt Sam's body go limp against him after he had hit him twice to try and stop him choking on his own blood, and Sam had managed to take a breath and leaned against Dean, and Dean thought that the worst was over.

He carefully lay Sam down on his bed and frowned, looking him over. He had passed out very quickly - and then Dean realised; Sam had gone from panicking to not breathing at all.

Fear seized Dean by the heart and he immediately pressed two fingers to the base of Sam's jaw, feeling a small relief at the weak pulse he found, but that was soon going to disappear if Sam didn't start breathing again soon.

This trial crap was getting way too hard and bad for the Winchesters, and Dean was about done with it. But first he had to save Sam. Always saving Sam, always looking out for his little brother.

Ordering hadn't worked before, but contact usually did, but - _focus Dean focus _- to wake Sam up with a jolt enough to get him realising he can breathe again would have to be a hit or -

_That'll do_. Dean slapped Sam full on the face as hard as he could, knowing it was their only chance. "Sammy, wake up and breathe or so help me I will -" he began, terror making his voice ragged, but thankfully, _oh thank god_, Dean didn't have to say what he would do, because Sam flew awake with a gasp, pushing himself up to cough.

Dean automatically caught him and thumped Sam on the back once more until he stopped coughing and there was a blissful silence in the room, broken only by somewhat regular, though hoarse, breathing from the younger Winchester, and terror stricken but calming from the other.

Pulling Sam closer, a hand against his little brother's neck to feel his slowing to a calmer rhythm pulse, Dean rested his head against Sam's hair, and was struck by the last time they were in this position.

It was when they had gotten back together, and had gone back to their old house. The poltergeist in the house had animated objects, and Sam had fallen victim to being choked to death by a lamp cord. It was pure luck that Dean had ran to check on him first, and had broken the spell the ghost had on the house, and had gone to Sam, pulling off the cord, and held his weak little brother close, just listening to the sound of Sam's breathing.

So that was all he did now, years and years and so many trials and tribulations later. Just held his little brother close and was soothed by his breathing, just knowing that it meant that they weren't giving up yet.

As Sam came back to consciousness, understanding filtered in and he shifted a little, feeling Dean tense around him. "Sammy?" He asked quietly, waiting for a response.

Sam cleared his throat hoarsely and immediately felt the hand on his back that had been rubbing stop warily. Letting out a slow breath, Sam replied just as quietly, "I'm here."

It was all Dean needed for a moment. He took a deep breath, and then slowly let Sam go, watching as he moved back against the bed's headboard. Settled, Sam looked up and met his eyes, a thousand thank-yous in his gaze.

Dean just nodded. Crisis over, for now, he suddenly felt total and complete anger - not at Sam, but at what had his little brother in its grip, and in its grip so much that it had almost stopped Sam breathing for good.

Unable to stay sat still, Dean stood up, pacing and breathing harshly. Sam watched him with his eyes, wary, but too weak to do anything physically. "Dean..." he began cautiously.

"This freaking thing is going to kill you, and it's just not right!" Dean exploded, yelling in the direction of Sam's desk rather than the room's occupant, because he knew that he would feel guilty later if he yelled at Sam, even if he wasn't really yelling at _Sam.__  
_

The fact that that thought didn't make any sense made Dean even more mad; he was so angry that he would love to punch something, anything - but what he would really like to do would be to stop this illness that was slowly but surely killing his little brother, taking Sam from him. And that wasn't allowed. Nothing could _take _Sam from him.

"Son of a BITCH," Dean shouted, the sound echoing through the Bunker's empty halls.

"Dean," Sam repeated forcefully, seeing where Dean's rant was going. But it was going to go nowhere but another panic attack unless he calmed down, and soon. And that really didn't need to be repeated so quickly.

"No, Sam, this thing - this - this goddamn _trials _are... they're just going too far," Dean continued, glaring at everything except his brother. _It isn't Sam's fault; if any, it's mine._

"We knew something like this would happen, but Dean-"

"Sam." This time Dean did turn and stare intensely at his brother. "You couldn't breathe, and then you weren't breathing. If I wasn't here to wake you the hell up, then where would we be, huh? I would've found you dead!"

Taking a breath to avoid panicking again, Sam nodded. "You would of," he agreed quietly. His cheek still stung and his back ached from being hit, but it was worth it to Dean, and to him, as long as he was still alive.

Dean's expression softened as he stared at his brother. "And then where would we have been?" he asked, voice cracking. Sam bit his lip and flicked his eyes down. He knew that there was no way Dean would live with finding him dead.

"But, Dean, listen," Sam repeated, waiting until he had eye contact with his brother. "You were here. And you saved my life tonight. And you've saved my life all the other times I would of died - because you're here." Truth dawned in Dean's eyes. Sam swallowed, feeling the tacky texture of blood, and continued, "and yes, this whole thing sucks, but at long as we've got each other, I know we'll be okay. We'll kick it in the ass, like we always do."

After Sam's speech, there was a silence, and Dean just watched his amazing little brother, weak and barely still having the strength to keep his head held up, let alone his thoughts as clear as that.

But Sam was a Winchester, and Winchesters - much less hunters - did not give in without one hell of a fight. Dean nodded once, and walked back over to Sam's bed, sitting on it with him.

Sam looked at him in surprise. "What are you doing?" he asked, frowning.

Dean shrugged. "You're exhausted, and hell am I leaving you alone to sleep. So sleep now, with me here, and I'll wake you up if something is wrong," Dean replied, as if it was no big deal.

And it wasn't, for them. Dean would do anything to keep his little brother safe, and Sam knew it, and, sometimes, relished in the knowledge that Dean was always there.

Well, he was quite tired. "Fine," he sighed, pretending to be resigned to it, and knowing he was too weak to argue. Dean half smiled, still trying to escape the shock and terror that was his little brother almost dying in front of him - again.

Sam settled down next to Dean and sighed again when he was comfortable. "You good?" Dean asked lightly. Sam nodded wearily, realising he was exhausted, and yawned.

Dean chuckled. "Go to sleep, bitch. I'm here," he added in a murmur.

Sam smiled, closing his eyes. "Jerk," he muttered, and it was worth it to hear Dean chuckle again, and know that his big brother knew that it mean 'I know you will be'.

As Sam drifted off, he smelt the familiar smell of whiskey and gunpowder that was just _Dean_. He sighed once more, contently, knowing that the scent came from his brother's hand, positioned near to his face, feeling for his breath.

Sam smiled again. He truly was the luckiest little brother in the world.

* * *

**Note 2: That was actually quite hard to write, but it's alright, I didn't get triggered (just about, jeez). It was really intense, maybe a tad more than it should of been, but when I get into writing I really need to write the first words that cross my mind, and they just make sense and form a perfect line. I hope that was okay. It got a little sappy at the end, but I figured they deserved it. Please review, and I hope that the story was okay for the requester! Thanks for reading (hope nobody got triggered, take care of yourself guys) and you're welcome. -Rayne**


	9. 8th Request from AlxM

**Bit of a break as my family went camping at the weekend, which was okay in the end, and college is - to my surprise - slowly but surely coming to an end for the year, so need to be a bit more focused on that ('more'... or, like, focus at all.. *ahem*). But yeah writing is always a great activity to peruse, so won't be stopping it! Now, here is the second request for AlxM, and don't worry about the last chapter! It was fine and I wouldn't have done it if I didn't think I could. This one is fine too! Thanks for the requests guys, you can keep them coming, but just a warning that I don't know when they'll be done, but they WILL be done unless I can't do them. Also this chapter includes a somewhat request from Shannanigans, who asked for some drugged/drunk Sammy... oh yes, that we can do now! Thank you for reading :))**

**Season: **Five, sometime after the boys have gotten back together, probably in the time from **5x05 - 5x10** Spoilers for 5x03!

**Characters/Themes: **Sam, Dean, other hunters, Bobby; kidnap, rescue, demon blood, torture, guilt, breakdown, drinking, comfort (...missed anything?!)

**Request: **from 'AlxM' - "Set early season five. The brothers get taken by hunters. They try to force Sam to take the demon blood, or else die. Sam refuses. Dean's shocked, pissed and guilty. But then they turn that threat on Dean. So, disappoint Dean or let him die? Either way, he's letting him down, or that's what he thinks. Cue a little breakdown afterwards, maybe?"

* * *

They were walking back to the hotel after an easy job when the hunters hit them. They didn't even know a thing. One moment Sam was talking, the next he was on the ground, and Dean barely had time to say his brother's name before darkness took him too.

Now, tied up on a chair in some basement opposite from his still unconscious brother, Dean groaned in pain and annoyance.

Annoyance because... how the hell did these hunters manage to get the drop on them? They were the friggin' Winchesters, apparently the best hunters out there, and quite well known by monster and hunter communities alike. And rather disliked, to be honest.

But still. Dean hadn't managed to identify the two men who were holding them captive. He had seen them briefly when they had come down to check their haul were still alive, but Dean had just been waking up, and the men had been wearing masks. They had left before Dean could straighten up and try to come to terms with the situation.

Which was hard. Despite calling his brother's name every moment or so since Dean woke up himself 10 minutes ago, Sam had yet to respond, which alone crowded Dean's mind with worry so that it was harder to focus on the situation or how the hell they were gonna get freaking out of this place.

There was a low groan from the other chair, and Dean sighed in relief - Sam was finally waking up. That meant at least one thing was okay, for now.

"Sammy?" Dean called, watching critically as his brother screwed up his eyes in pain as he came around, lifting his head to squint over to Dean.

"Dean?" Sam asked back, tiredly. He tried to move his arms and legs and realised that he was tied to a chair, much like Dean was, and his eyes widened as he scanned the place, weighing the situation.

Fully awake now he realised they had a bit of a problem on their hands, Sam blinked over at his brother. "Dean?" he repeated, now sounding wary, "you okay?"

Dean snorted in amusement. "Aside from being whacked and waking up tied to a chair in this godforsaken place and then worrying for five minutes about your stubbornly unconscious ass... well, yeah," he replied, snark in full swing as an automatic defense from concern and panic.

The bitchface he got back was worth it, though. "How about you?" Dean added conversationally, as if they were sitting in the motel room deciding what to have for dinner.

Sam shrugged, wincing as the movement pulled at his ropes on his raw wrists. "Similar situation, as you can see," he replied with a sigh before eyeing the place again. Dean nodded in agreement, also automatically cataloging the locked basement.

It was practically bare, with another chair in the corner. It wasn't very big either; there was a door to Dean's right about ten steps away, and a set of empty wooden shelves nailed into the wall to his left, about twenty steps away.

All in all, it wasn't a very friendly place and the set out, plus the fact that they were tied to chairs set in front of metal support beams, suggested that they had not just been brought here for a cup of tea and a jolly old chat with a friend.

As if to confirm this fact, the door opened and the two men entered, closing it behind them and surveying their victims.

They both got a double Winchester bitchface for their trouble, and the first man chuckled suddenly, filling the dangerous silence.

"Well, lookie at that," he sneered, glancing at his partner behind him. "Tim did say these two looked as different as night an' day, 'till you get 'em together and tie 'em up." He chuckled again, clearly finding something amusing. "Ain't that a charmer to come see."

Sam narrowed his eyes, not at all liking how this seemed to be turning out. "What do you want?" he asked coldly.

The second man grinned, looking interesting like a homicidal maniac, and took a knife out of his pocket before advancing on Sam, who glared at him. Dean immediately began struggling again, so the first man rolled his eyes and walked over to him.

"Look, kid," the second man began, leaning down to talk to Sam eye-to-eye, "you started the apocalypse, you beat up my friends and refused to help them, so now you gotta pay some kinda price."

He sighed as if thinking and brought the knife to Sam's cheek, pressing the blade into the skin and smiling cruelly. "I think this'll teach ya to mess around like that again." He chuckled as manically as the first man and applied a little pressure to the blade so it cut into the skin, forming beads of red that trickled slowly down Sam's face as he barely flinched at the pain.

"Go die in hell, bitches," Dean said dangerously, glaring daggers at the man who was hurting Sam, though his little brother was not giving the man the satisfaction of knowing that it hurt.

There was a sigh from beside him before Dean felt a hard punch to his temple, and he couldn't help grunting in pain as he tried to shake his head to rid of the edging blackness to his vision now. "Do us all a favor an' shut the hell up," the first man said in a bored voice.

The second man grinned at the reaction that Dean made when his brother was hurt, and vice versa. Sam glared at him. "So, you said something about Tim..." he began, trying to distract the men so they wouldn't hurt him or Dean again.

Man #1, beside Dean, nodded with a smile that had too many teeth. "Yep. Tim come to us after that whole diner shit, and he said, 'hey guys, can y'all help me with somethin'?' And we says, yeah, course - Tim's a friend of ours, see."

"An' Tim's friends were friends of ours too," Man #2, beside Sam, added. "So when we heard that you had let one of 'em get killed, an' then refused to help... well." the man laughed and admired Sam's blood on the knife in his hand, leaving the rest of the sentence to his actions.

Dean sighed loudly as if bored by the whole thing, and attempted to share an exasperated look with Sam, but his brother had a horrified look on his face and was swallowing hard as if remembering some horrible taste. Frowning in concern, Dean was about to ask why - screw the hunters standing beside them - when said men began to talk again.

"Anyway, we got business to attend to, haven't we, Simon?" the man who was talking to Sam announced, straightening up and addressing the other hunter, who smiled evilly in response.

"We sure have, Harvey," he replied, as if they were on a game show or something, and didn't have two angered Winchesters tied up in their basement, who were going to kill them both the second they got lose.

Rolling his eyes again, Dean interjected into their conversation, "well better get on with it and let us go then, _Simon _and _Harvey_."

Simon, the one beside Dean, punched him in the stomach, and Harvey mirrored the assault to Sam, and then both hunters promptly walked away, out the room, and closed the door behind them.

Dean immediately turned his attention to his brother, who seemed to be in shock, though the recent punch had brought him out of it a bit. "Sam?" Dean called anxiously, waiting until his brother looked right at him, still kind of dazed but at least in the moment.

"What do you know about what they're talking about?" Dean asked, not really wanting to push Sam at the moment, but knowing that he had to know before the hunters came back. "It's important now, Sam, tell me," he urged.

Sam swallowed hard again and hesitated before replying in a breaking voice, as if he wanted to forget the whole thing. "Well, when, uh, we separated... these hunters, Tim and Reggie and another, found me and went to kill some demons nearby." He paused, grimacing at the memory. "But, uh, one of them got killed. So they came back to me and, uh... wanted me to drink demon blood so I could get hyped up and kill the demons."

Dean blinked, staring at Sam in horror. "And... did you?" he asked tentatively, hoping he knew what the answer was. Sam immediately shook his head.

"No; I refused, so, uh, Tim tried to uh... force me to drink it. But I spat it in his face, beat them up and left. Drove as far away as possible. A couple of days later we got back together," Sam finished, flinching at the memory.

Fresh anger filling him, fueled even more by the cut on Sam's cheek, Dean ground out, "they're going to _pay_, Sammy," before the two hunters came back into the room, surveying their captives again like they were meat on a slab.

"How are y'all now?" Simon asked brightly, with light in his eyes not different than the eyes of a homicidal maniac. Dean glared at him with all his anger, and he just laughed, showing too many teeth. "That good, huh?"

Harvey joined in the laughter, and addressed Sam. "Well, you're about to feel better, mister. 'Cos ain't we got a present for you," he announced, and held up a small glass bottle, a one that maybe potions would be made in, for them all to see.

Sam's blood froze in fear. In the bottle was blood, and it didn't take a genius to work out what kind of blood. "No," he said in a hard voice. Harvey glanced at Simon and then back to Sam.

"Come again?" he asked in all politeness, as though he had just not heard properly.

"No. I won't take it."

Simon raised an eyebrow. "That's what I thought he said," he pointed out to Harvey, who glanced at him again and nodded in agreement.

Harvey cleared his throat importantly. He pulled out his knife again and walked towards Sam, blood in one hand, knife in the other. Sam shifted in his seat, steeling himself for what he knew was coming.

"Just say that one more time," Harvey whispered, placing the weapon delicately at Sam's neck, so he could feel it when he swallowed in sick anticipation.

"He said no, you freaks," Dean growled, glaring straight at the man who was definitely not in his good books at the moment, mainly due to the whole torturing-his-little-brother-both-mentally-and-physically thing.

Harvey paused, then straightened up, removing the knife from Sam's throat, to the hunter's wary surprise. In a flawless movement, Harvey tossed the weapon to Simon, who caught it and was beside Dean's chair, holding the knife point to his chest, in the next second.

Aside from automatically flinching at his brother being threatened, Sam forced himself not to react; instead staring Harvey coldly right in the eyes.

The man stared right back at him, and Sam realised this was more than a hunter - this really was a murderer. He had killed humans before, and intended to do so again. This man was dangerous, fatally so, and his partner was probably the same.

After the whole threatening-the-Winchesters thing was over - because that was a really bad idea at any stage, for anyone, and sooner or later, the kidnapper quickly realises their mistake, but by then it's too late, and the odds are in the Winchesters' favor... well, after that whole thing, these two mad hunters would have to be put down.

There was a tension filled silence in the room, then Dean involuntarily gasped in pain, and Sam had to look.

Which was what Harvey had been waiting for. The second Sam stopped staring at him, instead widening his eyes as he caught sight of the light slash in his brother's neck, and Dean's clear pained posture, Harvey punched him in the stomach.

Sam automatically doubled over as best he could while tied to a chair, and Harvey got a fistful of his hair and pulled his head back so Sam was looking up at the ceiling, gasping in pain, which turned to wheezing as his abused neck failed to do its job properly.

"Take the blood... or your brother dies," Harvey hissed, holding the jar of red above Sam's face so he could see it clearly.

Struggling to breathe, Sam still managed to shake his head. "Die... in hell..." he replied through gritted teeth. Harvey's eyes hardened and he let go of Sam's hair, the hunter's head falling forward as he gasped for breath.

Harvey nodded to Simon, who began moving the knife at speed to stab Dean in the chest, surely killing him. Sam wanted to close his eyes, he couldn't watch, this was his fault, but he'd let his brother down again if he didn't, and he couldn't, he couldn't watch...

"Stop!"

Even through the current situation, all four men in the room were trained hunters, and could do their job very well. So at the loud command, they all did stop for a second, a natural response for any trained hunter.

It was enough.

Enough for Bobby to grab Simon's arm, twisting the knife out of his hand before punching the surprised hunter, knocking him out cold, and kicking him once on the floor. Weaponless, Harvey could only stare in shock as Bobby grabbed him too and put him out with a couple of punches.

Panting slightly - a semi-retired hunter sure seemed to have to keep fit - Bobby looked up at Sam, then Dean, who were both staring at him with ridiculous expressions on their faces.

Bobby rolled his eyes. Typical Winchesters. He sighed and pulled a knife out of his pocket, leaning over to cut Sam's rope bonds, seeing as that kid was the closest. Rubbing his wrists automatically, Sam stared at Bobby until the elder hunter put the knife in his hands.

"No need to thank me, princess. Go see to your brother while I deal with these jackasses," Bobby said, turning away and glaring at the unconscious hunters on the floor. Not particularly pleased that one of them had been a good friend once, and was the reason that he had managed to find the boys; Harvey's number was still on his phone and it was easy enough to track the GPS that the idiot had not thought of turning off.

Not that Bobby was complaining. He gave the traitor a good kick in the stomach that made him curl in on himself even in unconsciousness, and then walked the couple steps over to the other hunter, Simon.

Bobby had heard news of this quite-new-to-the-job man. He knew enough to be aware of what had started the guy hunting, and what had brought him to his partner Harvey; Simon's daughter had killed herself after confessing to her father that he was a main reason why she was afraid. He had never been a good father after her childhood years, and had caused effective emotional trauma to his daughter.

As a result, his resignment to life had led to not noticing his wife was possessed by a demon ruling under Lucifer. Eventually he had had to kill her, and holding her dying body in his arms, had sworn himself to a hunter's job through his tears. Soon after, he met Harvey, who sympathised, and they had begun working together.

Just on the wrong thing. There was more to hunting, Simon should of known, than simply tracking for revenge. And kidnapping the Winchester brothers because of a hint from another friend who suggested that Sam had started the apocalypse that possibly may have been the reason why he had had to kill his wife with his own hands, and torture other humans for information on revenge... well, it was quite ridiculous.

Sighing, Bobby wished he didn't know a lot about the two hunters. It made the job harder, but Sam and Dean were his boys, and he was going to be angry at anyone who tried to take them from him.

He bent down and picked up the knife that Simon was going to kill Dean with. It was their special demon killing knife, that he had clearly stole from Dean's pocket while the older Winchester was knocked out. Bobby wrinkled his nose, pondering on whether to kill the two morons.

But he remembered that he and the Winchesters, at least, did not kill humans. Even Dean usually abided to this rule, although if they had tortured his brother they were in danger of death.

Thinking of the Winchesters, Bobby glanced up, watching, as Sam used the knife given to him to undo Dean's bonds, and help his brother to his feet. Bobby noted with concern that Dean had a clear knife slash to his neck, though it was shallow enough to barely be trickling with blood, though it must hurt like a bitch.

Giving the second unconscious hunter a good kick in the stomach too, Bobby sighed and forced himself to leave the two to their own stupid minds. It was time to get his boys to safety.

"Come on, boys," he mumbled, suddenly tired of all this. The boys were practically heroes, in his eyes at least, and they didn't deserve this crap; to be treated like criminals. Everyone makes mistakes, and all of the good that Sam had ever done completely outweighed the mistakes the boy accidently made, thinking it was the right choice.

Bottom line, his boys didn't deserve this, and he was going to make damn sure that he was there for them when they needed him. He owed them that, for always putting the world before themselves.

He moved towards the door, and, in a edgy silence, Sam and Dean followed.

* * *

Dean sighed and walked out of the bathroom, carefully checking the bandaged cut on his neck with a wince.

He had expected Sam to freak out and fuss over him, but to his surprise and concern, his brother had simply stared at him when they had got back to Bobby's, and then asked in a hollow voice if he needed help.

Sam had looked ready to collapse in defeat and tiredness, so Dean had declined his help, and had gone to the bathroom to patch himself up rather awkwardly using the mirror.

Of course, it wasn't that Sam didn't care. The kid's eyes told of fear, and worry, and urge to help and make better what had hurt his big brother. But seeing as he had got a cut on his cheek too, Dean had waved him off and told him to go look after himself.

Which was evidently not what he had been doing.

Because as Dean approached the bedroom they shared at Bobby's, he could smell whiskey. And quickly realised that Sam was doing something very uncharacteristic for him - drowning his guilt and sorrow in a bottle.

Huh. That was usually Dean or Bobby's gig; Sam always beat himself up over things too, but did it in a less alcoholic, more emotional damaging kind of way.

And to be honest, Dean wasn't sure which he preferred. A drunk Sammy was confused and mourning and hard to reason with, but easy to put down to bed, if he hadn't already drunk himself to pass out, which usually happened. Then a horrible hangover would plague him in the morning, because for some reason, Sam had never learnt to hold his liqueur like John or Dean or Bobby.

So Dean felt he knew what to expect as he opened the door to their room.

Sure enough, Sam was sitting on his bed, head tipped back against the wall, with a quarter filled whiskey bottle on the side table. Dean grimaced. He didn't really know how much Sam had drunk; probably more than the evidence suggested.

"Sammy?" Dean said cautiously as he walked into the room, towards the beds.

Sam didn't move or react for a moment, then shifted as if just hearing his brother's voice, and stated in a slurred way, "Dean."

Twitching a smile despite the situation, Dean sighed and replied, "Sam, why didn't you just go to sleep?"

"Always my fault," Sam murmured in what was assumingly intending to be an essay, but his drunk hazed mind couldn't comprehend how to talk properly any more. He hung his head instead, making himself more sick.

"It isn't your fault, Sammy," Dean replied soothingly, guessing he knew that Sam was talking about the whole demon blood and hunters fiasco, and trying to decide the best way forward now, with the destination of having Sam asleep in bed, preferably not with alcohol poisoning.

At the intended reassurence, Sam snapped his head up, half-glaring at Dean through heavy eyes. "Is my fault," he insisted, pointing to himself as though Dean didn't realise that he was talking about himself. "Always let you down, always le'in you down... sorry, D'n."

The poor kid was smashed and was still apologising for his actions. Dean had to swallow hard before he could carry on, because his little brother always found new ways to break his heart.

"Sam, listen - it was not your fault, and nothing happened that could _be _your fault anyway," Dean replied in a calm manner, knowing that whatever he said Sam was not going to either understand or upset.

Blinking getting heavier, Sam frowned as if he couldn't comprehend what they were talking about. He had probably forgotten already.

"Look, Sammy, you're wasted," Dean pointed out reasonably, and it would of been taken reasonably if Sam hadn't been just that - completely and utterly wasted.

Instead, he took it an insult rather than a statement of truth. "Yeah, like you could've done be'er," he replied in what was perhaps meant to be an aggressive tone. It was also incorrect, as indeed Dean could of done better, seeing as he was the one that could actually hold his liquor.

Deciding not to point this out too, Dean went for a direct approach. "Come on, Sasquatch, sleep time," he announced, and maneuvered his barely responding brother into a lying down position. Sam immediately turned around to lie on his stomach, face buried in the pillow, half formed words still being muttered.

Dean sighed and left Sam to it, sitting down on his own bed and scrubbing his face with one hand. He hated it when Sam got drunk. He hated it even more when the kid blamed himself for everything, though that was something that he couldn't help really.

It took less than a minute for the mutterings to cease, and Dean simply watched his little brother's back moving a little as he breathed.

Admittedly, it was always a nervous time when Sam got drunk, and especially when Dean didn't know how much he had gotten hold of. A couple of times Dean had had to call an ambulance because his little brother had drunk himself to unconsciousness and stubbornly stayed that way, barely breathing. And Dean did not take chances with Sam's life.

So he decided to just stay in the room, watching over, as was his job. He would watch over his little brother forever, because that was all he was sure to do.

And he should of been watching over Sam when he was force fed his addictive substance - his little brother so strong that he spat it out in his abuser's face, and left the normal life behind, _again_.

Yeah, that one, and many others, was on Dean.

A lot could be said about Dean and Sam Winchester, but one of the things that would probably not come to mind would be the word 'vulnerable'.

But when Bobby Singer looked into their room a few hours later to check on the idjits, all he saw was two exhausted by the world boys sleeping on top of the covers. Dean crashed out, and Sam sleeping off drink, but not the guilt that came with it.

And the only word that came to mind was _vulnerable_.

But that was okay. Because they were safe and stopped, and he was there to watch over them. Both of them. Bobby shut the door and headed to his own room, next to theirs, to listen out for any calls for help. He smiled to himself. He would be there immediately if they needed. Because they were his boys.

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay, okay, I KNOW that Bobby is in a wheelchair in Season Five. And I LITERALLY remembered that as I was writing the last sentence. But it'll take too long to go back and alter it, and I just want Bobby to look after his boys, okay. So apologies for that clear canon error, but, uh, I'm afraid you'll have to deal with it, as I am satisfied with the way this story turned out, and do not want to have to go back and change it. So sorry, but hope you enjoyed Bobby taking care of his boys anyway. He's the best person to keep those idjits in line. Hope you enjoyed the story :))**


End file.
